


Ethnoentomology

by Piston24, Wrongful



Series: Ethnoentomology [2]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, Hallucinations, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Memory Loss, Musical References, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Search for a Cure, Unreliable Narrator, kind of, like a lot of them, longfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2021-04-15
Packaged: 2021-04-23 17:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 121,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piston24/pseuds/Piston24, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrongful/pseuds/Wrongful
Summary: A lone human, impossibly, staggers his way into Hallownest with no recollection of how he got there. Or any recollection of anything, really. With no skills in survival or combat, his only hope is to follow this small Knight creature around until he finds his way home.That, or until he drops dead from this orange sickness in his head. He swears he's starting to see things.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, The Knight & Human, The Knight & OC
Series: Ethnoentomology [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831015
Comments: 176
Kudos: 377
Collections: DerangedDeceiver's Favorite Fics





	1. I Won't Hurt You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “With no one to guide me, torn apart by the fiery wheel inside me.”

He’d long since forgotten why he started walking in the first place.

It didn’t matter to him anymore, really. He’d already made it this far. He just wanted to get away, to some remote, desolate place where nobody knew his name. He never bothered to think about why, or what drove him so far away from any form of society he’d ever known. All he thought about was putting one weary foot after another on some dark, rocky road where nobody could be seen for miles.

He never got any calls on his phone since he left. When did he leave? How long had he been out here? Who exactly would be trying to call him? It was all just white noise in a hollow head, nearly devoid of emotion or rational thought. All that was left was the will, the _ instinct _, to stagger on. To where? And why? Who cared.

The sun’s warm rays couldn’t find him here. The sky was black as Death’s own shadowy cloak, and the usual sprinkle of stars and cosmos cast across the sky had fled the bitter scene. There was, however, the tiniest sliver of a moon drifting across a void sky. The pale light it cast upon the dirt and rocks was scarce, but it was enough for the human to keep moving. He pulled his scarf up closer to his face as the icy wind picked up, his eyes clenched and watering while the ends of his scarf whipped wildly behind him.

His legs burnt like hellfire. Gravity pulled down on his entire being. He felt himself starting to stumble, he felt his arms droop, he could feel the weight of his face holding him down. He slammed his shoulder into a nearby rock for support, the impact making him wince. He took a few more steps before collapsing to a knee in the dirt. Suddenly, the exhaustion from his mindless trek started to finally set in, and he fell sideways onto his arm.

Agony and exhaustion searing his limbs, his gut, his _ head _, finally made itself known. The human rolled over onto his back, only to be blinded by a brilliant light above him. He barely had the strength in him to lift an arm and try to block it out, shadows dancing across his face.

He shuddered. The light warmed his face and his body. It soothed his aching and quelled his pain. It sheltered him from the cold winds and harsh world. With his trembling hand, the same one he once used to block out this warmth, reached out to the light, seeking more of its cozy embrace.

Warmth. He _ needed _ that warmth.

Something reached out back to him. That golden brilliance, it settled closer, and he felt his hand rest on the heart of the warmth. It was powerful, _ burning _ , but gentle. He caressed the warm fuzz, and as he did so, it extended an arm back to him, so close to _ touching _ him, moments away from feeling that same warmth he was _ drunk _ on, and its hand-

Roughly jabbed him in the face.

The beautiful dream was broken. This wasn’t the same hand. This one was skeletal, and _ cold _, unlike the soft and warm hand reaching out to him. The golden brilliance was gone, too, replaced by a dreary, pale street lamp. He was poked again. Whatever was, he blearily tried to swat it away.

The poking only intensified.

“Q-Quit that...” he groaned. His eyes slowly opened, vision blurry. With a grunt, he sat up, still clutching his coat around his body. The cold was still there, and still not helping with his sleepiness or mood. And his head… he could have sworn that the pounding wasn’t there a moment ago. Ugh…

Whoever woke him up better have a good reason… though, why was he sleeping outside? And in the dark pitch of night, no less. Was he on a camping trip that was sprung on him last minute? It would certainly explain some things. A friend must have been the one to wake him. Yeah, that made sense. Still, why was he outside, and without a sleeping bag? The whole situation was giving him a headache, that much was certain. Grumpily, he pulled himself up into a crossed leg position.

Rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes, he looked to see who woke him up. It was most definitely not the face of anyone he knew. Hold on. It wasn’t a face at all...

“A... mask?” he mumbled to himself. Why was this guy wearing such an elaborate mask? It was a thing of pure white, with two, black hollow holes, and a complementing pair of curved horns completing the costume piece. He couldn’t even see the eyes behind it. Sort of creepy, now that he thought about it.

The one who woke him appeared to have a thin, stout body of uniform darkness, black spandex maybe? A strange blue, segment cloak slung over its shoulders concealed much of its main body. Whatever it was, it was much shorter than him. If he had to guess, the horns of the mask would probably come up to his forearms when he was standing at his full height. There was… a sword as well? Whatever it was, the flat metal was firmly strapped on its back. That was most definitely strange. This night kept getting weirder and weirder, even to his slowly awakening mind. 

Another poke, this time to the cheek, brought him back to the present. Ow… why? Another poke, to the forehead… cripes, that finger is bony… Another… ow… 

“O-Okay! Okay! Stop it!” he shouted, his hand shielding his forehead, “No more!”

The figure tilted its head, the sockets of the mask gazing into him. It was an odd feeling, to say the least. He couldn’t quite tell, but he could swear that the figure in front of him was studying him, and not in the fun way. It was very disconcerting, to say the least. The feeling was shattered, however, when the thing raised one skeletal hand to his hair, and gently tousled it. What in the world…?

He grimaced at the feeling of the dry, clammy thing moving over his scalp, rustling his short brown hair.

“Um… could you please, y’know, stop that?” The being, to its credit, quickly withdrew its hand. The said hand was then extended; most likely a gesture to help him stand up. Tepidly, he took it. It was bony and hard like stone, yet also… smooth, somewhat? What was this thing? Was it even human?

A grunt, a pull, and he was on his feet. He stretched a bit, his muscles piping up about how sore they were, as well as his joints popping. The bleariness in his eyes had diminished, and he was able to get a better look at their surroundings.

It looked like it was some kind of a spacious, rocky cave. Most of the surfaces were covered in a sort of moss, lichen maybe? A stray beam of moonlight streamed down from a solitary sky hole, illuminating the surroundings, albeit poorly. It also made viewing his, er, “companion”, for lack of a better term, a bit difficult. He could’ve sworn with how black their body was, the light seemed to just _ fall _ into him. Besides that, the cavern was dank and cold, with a chill gust of wind flowing through. Hopefully, he didn’t get a runny nose from it.

The grasping of his hand broke him from his thoughts.

“What’re you- Woah!” his arm was jerked when the figure started dragging him behind it. His feet didn’t realize he was moving, which caused him to fall face-first into the ground. It looked back at him with its soulless eyes. Wearily, he slowly and painfully got back on his feet. Seeing that its companion was back up, it continued, but at a more sedate pace.

“You-” The human staggered for a moment, his senses going numb as he leaned up against a nearby rock for support until he could stand on his own again. “Y-You want me to… come with you?”

The small creature gave a quick nod, its expression remaining unchanged. He’d pretty much concluded at this point that, whatever this thing was, it wasn’t human. He pulled his hands up to his face and rubbed around, as though trying to wake himself up from a bizarre hallucination. What the hell was going on here? He took a shaky breath. Maybe… maybe it was just a weird dream. What had he done the night before? He… He’d…

Nothing.

He was drawing a total blank. He ran back through the depths of his mind and found nothing. Null, void, emptiness. Where did he live before? Was there anyone with him? Did he know anybody? Who was the last person he spoke to? Where did he work? _ Did _ he work? What’d he do for a living?

_ What was his _ ** _fucking_ ** _ name? _

Poke. He was pulled out of his thoughts, and by extension, an oncoming panic attack, by the strange creature jabbing a finger into his thigh. As it turned out, the small thing’s head barely came up to his hips, and that was _ if _ you counted its almost comically large horns. It stared up at him with those deep, black eyes - no, not eyes, _ holes _. They looked like bottomless pits, an endless abyss you could lose yourself in forever. Like there was an unspeakable monster lurking in the shadows of its eyes, just waiting for the right moment to leap out and tear his body to bloody shreds.

Other than that, it was kind of cute.

The human blinked. It had been staring at him in silence for a while now, hadn’t it?

“Uhh, o-okay. Sure, I’ll, uh, go with you.” The human decided, for his sanity, to write off this whole mess as a dream for the time being until he could decipher what the hell was going on. The small… thing grabbed his hand again and tugged him along the rocky, empty street. It occurred to him how _ frigid _ it was here, gusts of icy wind setting his hair on end. He shuddered, rubbing his hands against his forearms, thankful that he was granted the small mercy of a coat and scarf in this unusual dream.

The two continued, the human being pulled along by the small creature. Aside from the howling wind and the rustling of the sparse, tall grass, there wasn’t any other sound. Sure, it was a bit disconcerting, but it also felt peaceful, in a sense. Almost like he and his companion were the only ones in the world. Or maybe it was just _ them _ that didn’t exist; he certainly felt like a ghost, walking through the dark with nary a sound. Only the piercing chill and the held hand of the creature kept him grounded. Well, as grounded as he _ could _ be at the moment. 

The creature. The thing, the being, the companion, _ ack, _ he had to stop referring to it in those terms. It felt rude. And repetitive. The thing needed a nickname… something that would substitute until he figured out its name.

Shorty? It was rather small, but it didn’t feel right.

Maybe Dark? ...Nah, that wasn’t a good one. Besides, he didn’t need any accusations of racism lodged at him.

What about naming him after the horned mask? ...No.

He gave the creature a look over. Despite its stature, it carried itself proudly, almost with an air of regality. And the sword thing on its back… Knight. Yeah, that was a good one. Knight. 

They had long since exited the cavern and were now in full view of the sky. The very _ plain _ sky; there weren’t any stars he could see, and the moon was but a sliver of a crescent in the sky. Some kind of deja-vu washed over him. He felt like he noticed it before, but had it just not registered?

As they went along, the rough, uncarved stone gave way to broken rubble which lined their path. Despite the mostly blackened sky, the faint remnants of the moon were enough to bathe the road in a low silver. The path itself became much more uneven, the smooth rock usurped by fragmented bricks of a decayed cobble road. At the very least, it was a sign of civilization, albeit one that was probably dead.

That begged the question...

“So, um… where are we going?” he asked, his voice barely carrying over the gales. The Knight, however, ignored his question, continuing its pace forward. The human pursed his lips, sighing softly through his nose. Well, the journey is better than the destination, right? Still, an answer wouldn’t hur-

Wait… was that light? Not the all-pervasive moonlight, but from something _ artificial _ . Coming from a beautiful lamp, with two separate bulbs in the center of spiraled metal surrounding them. He blinked; maybe this place wasn’t as dead as he thought it was. What is this place then? A historical park or something? It had a gloomy beauty to it, one that he imagined would have been popular back home. Whatever home was supposed to be for him. Even with these worrying holes in his memory, it was something he could just... _ feel _, without explanation.

Light under light, lamp under lamp they traveled, the illumination growing stronger, and the wind losing much of its bite. He couldn’t tell how long they had been walking, but his companion seemed to become more… expectant, in a way. Maybe it was just how it seemed to speed up a little, less of a hunch in its posture, he couldn’t tell. The Knight’s energy seemed to rub off on him. He couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of hopefulness, despite the horrifying experience of waking up in the middle of nowhere without your memories. Maybe his luck would finally be turning around here.

Suddenly, Knight ground to a halt, holding up one arm to keep the human from advancing further. He unceremoniously bumped against Knight, thought because of its height, it nearly tripped him.

“H-Hey, careful,” he said, going a step back, “You could have tripped-” he trailed off, looking below.

They were at the edge of a cliff, one where the bottom was almost out of view. What lay beyond, however…

“...Me...”

The darkness of the bottom gave way to a string of small lights, most likely following a path, which led to what looked to be a… town, judging by the silhouettes of buildings and the large glow given off. The small town eclipsed the void backdrop of the night sky. The empty coldness of the world around gave the town a strangely cozy look, and made the human shudder. Truly, a sight for sore eyes. But… 

“Um… how are we going to get there?” 

That question was promptly answered when his companion jumped forward. Into the dark unknown. Still holding onto him.

With a startled yell, his free hand grasped the Knight’s forearm, pulling up with all his might. Precariously, he stood at the edge of the cliff, holding the small thing over the abyss. The creature was… a lot lighter than it looked like it should’ve been.

“What the... _ hell _ are you thinking!” he grunted, trying to gain a better grasp of its arm. “I’m stumped too, but throwing ourselves off of a cliff isn’t going to help any!” 

Another hollow gaze from it as it looked up to him. He swore it was almost accusatory. As if saving this thing’s life was a great offense. The feeling was only accentuated when the masked Knight took its free hand and tried to pry his hands off of its arm. Nope, not happening. With a heave, he flung it from over the drop back to solid ground, where it tumbled onto its rump, its back against the ground. Even now, after bringing it to safety, the Knight seemed agitated. Whether it was from being unceremoniously dumped onto the ground, or stopped from making its jump, he couldn’t tell.

It sat up, then got back on its feet. When he reached down to grab the small thing, it zipped away, leaving him in the dust. Before he could react, the Knight leapt… off the cliff. He stared in disbelief where the horned creature had last been. Did… did he really just lose… oh god… oh hell…

He needed a drink. 

He fell onto his behind, clutching his face with his hands. His one fixture in this twisted… whatever purgatory this was; gone. Was he _ that _ repulsive of a person? Was this some cruel joke from fate or his mind? Why did this even happen?

He was freed from his self-pity and what almost was his second meltdown in the last hour when an echoey _ Clang _! resounded from the area below. What? That couldn’t have been his companion, that would have sounded more… wet. (He felt his gut twist at his word choice.) Not like metal striking against stone.

Wait… metal? A _ sword _?

Getting up to his feet, he ran to the edge, skidding to a stop just before the drop-off. Quickly getting onto his stomach, he carefully inched his way to the lip of the cliff. When his head hung suspended over the void, he gasped. There, at the bottom, was movement. Movement and sparks. Sparks that could only come from…

“A sword,” he quietly breathed to himself. It had to be alive, it had to be! Somehow! But… how was he going to get down there? There wasn’t any chance he was going to jump off like a lemming. There had to be another way down. Chances were this cliff wasn’t a sheer drop off along the entire edge; there had to be a place where he could descend safely. 

After shimmying away from the edge of the cliff, he returned to his feet and walked along the edge, to the right of the lighted path. As he once again became swallowed in the dark, the more intimate sounds once again revealed themselves. The solitary chirping of a cricket. The whistling of the wind. His quiet steps over the stone. All by his lonesome again. He had to reunite with his guardian, and quickly. 

Silently, he surveyed the ridge, eyes sharp for any path down. His efforts were rewarded, as his vision revealed a section less sheer than the rest of the cliff. It was still quite steep, maybe about a seventy-degree incline, but something he could descend if he was careful.

Carefully, he stepped to the edge, only a foot away from the incline. Despite it being his best chance of getting down, he still felt apprehension near it. One mistake, and he would tumble down it, at the mercy of rock and gravity. If he was lucky, he would break his neck immediately upon slipping up. If not… maybe thinking about it wasn’t the best idea. 

Getting down onto his bum, he scooted forward gingerly. One foot came forward, slowly edging itself onto the slope, looking for traction. Then the other foot. Then his rump on the incline. He panted softly, most of his muscles tense from either nervousness or to support himself.

“Careful now… careful now…” he repeated quietly, the mantra hammering through his head. Keeping him grounded. Must… remain… calm…

Inch by inch, he descended. Muscle twitch by muscle twitch. Internal agony by internal agony. But it was progress. Progress that brought him closer and closer to Knight. To the bottom of the cliff. To safety. That safety would have to wait for a while though. He still had a fair way to go.

He didn’t know how long he had been precariously crawling down, but it felt like ages he had last been up on top. Was Knight still even down there? Would it have abandoned him already? What if- 

His right foot suddenly tumbled from its once secure position, sliding out from under him.

“Woah!” he shouted, the rest of his body falling from the loss of support. “Oh shi-!” he fell onto his side, rolling twice before splaying his limbs out in an attempt to stop his fall. It was only partially successful, slowing him down, but he was still going down _ too fast! _ Gritting his teeth, he braced his extremities, hoping that they would catch on something. Come on, _ come on! _

Before he could gain any traction, the end of the slope mercifully hit him. He slammed into the ground, rolling once onto his back, where he remained.

“M-Made it...” he gasped for breath. He made a weak fist pump in the air, wincing when he moved his arm. “G-God...” 

Fortunately for him, his companion had been waiting near the foot of the incline. Which meant it had viewed the entire spectacle. While in another context he might have been embarrassed, he was instead in too much pain to care. The Knight was looking down at him, a… he couldn’t even tell what the Knight was feeling.

“Y-you… y-yo… ugh...,” he moaned, his head going back against the ground. It said nothing. Sharp pains in his hand and face brought him back to his condition. Especially his hands. Oh god, his hands. How badly did he mess them up on his way down?

The answer: very. Upon bringing one close to his face, he grimaced at their appearance. Bloody, torn flesh greeted him. The few spots not cut up or covered in blood where an angry scarlet. If he had to guess, his face was probably similar. It didn’t make much difference to him. They still felt as if they had been scorched in fire. For his shitty consolation prize, the rest of his body was only bruised, not cut up thanks to his clothing. And the confirmation that this couldn’t be some hallucination of a dream. Neither would hurt this _ fucking _ much.

“N-now, h-how- oh god-... h-how did you survive that _ fall!? _” he tried to keep his voice down, but the absurdity of the situation, as well as his pain, bypassed his will. It was just… he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. What the hell was this thing? Not even dream logic could explain this.

Knight, for its part, cautiously reached under his arms and dragged him to the nearby rocky wall. It ran its hands over his body, him wincing in pain when one would run over a bruise. 

“Ow… cut it out, would you?” he grunted, his voice strained. Knight, to its credit, quickly withdrew its hands. “How far do you think we are from that town?” He needed rest and bandages, badly. They couldn’t be too… far…

“Dammit…” he whispered to himself. They must have gone down too far. Instead of seeing any lamps, they were instead surrounded by solid cavern walls. The whole place seemed to be a sinkhole of some sort; there weren’t any branching paths, just smooth rock, small amounts of rubble, and moonlight streaming in. There was no way he was climbing out of here; not with his hands.

“I think we may be... wha...?” He trailed off as the Knight had already made its way to what looked like a half-collapsed arch, a pile of rubble positioned under it, balanced precariously on top of itself. “What’re you doing-?”

The Knight didn’t respond. Maybe it really was mute? Definitely not deaf, that was for sure. Reaching the rubble, it drew its sword… thing. What did the Knight expect to do with that? That question was abruptly answered when it took a mighty slice to the rubble.

Every stroke, every slice chipping away at the wall. What was that sword made of? Thinking about it gave him a splitting headache. This wasn’t even close to the weirdest thing he had seen tonight, and suffering through a headache trying to figure it out wasn’t worth it. By the time his headache had receded to a dull pounding, a passageway had been revealed, its dark entrance beckoning. Sword still in hand, the Knight ran forward into it. Was he just _ ditched!? _

Ugh… this is going to hurt. So. Much. Groaning in pain, his teeth grit, he slowly stood up. There was no way he was going to be abandoned like that. No. Way. In. Hell. He had one chance to get out of here, and was not going to waste it, injuries or not. 

One step forward. His leg shot off signals of pain to him, soreness obvious, but he continued forward, one step at a time. At the very least, walking helped unravel some of his muscle’s knots. Cautiously, he stepped under the collapsed archway and into the tunnel; the same tunnel the Knight had gone into. It was pitch black inside: he would be restricted to feeling his way around. Another obstacle to overcome.

The human slowly continued through the restrictive space, and after several more destroyed piles of rubble, the small passage finally opened up into a larger cavern. One with a bit of bioluminescence, so he could see. He needed to catch up with the creature, one way or another. There was still the sound of its sword slashing ahead, so he had that at least.

A squishing sound under his feet gave him pause.

Oh, for the love of… he had stepped in… something. It… looked like a large beetle, or weird bug... armadillo… _ thing. _ Lifting his right foot, he saw his shoe was caked in some odd orange goop, but mostly some kind of gray bug guts. He gagged at the sight. And these were his only shoes, damnit! And judging by the way it had been vivisected, he could only assume that his companion was responsible. 

Cripes, maybe the Knight was a bit more… _ homicidal, _ then he thought it was. Wasn’t animal torture the sign that someone may be a serial killer? Though… the carcass was some colossal bug, and not a normal-sized little insect. He probably would have killed it as well.

Reality was obviously on its smoke break. He could only hope that it decided to put down the cigar and quit being a nicotine addict.

Unfortunately for him, the small being hadn’t quite killed everything. A high pitched screech from the roof of the cavern caught his attention. The human turned around just in time for something to slam into his face, carving several more scratches into it. He shrieked in surprise, stumbling backward and tripping on some loose rubble, sending him falling back into the dirt. He tried to bat the thing off of his eyes, only causing his creature to latch onto his left forearm instead. It dug its two mandibles deep into it, drawing crimson blood. 

The human’s mind went blank with panic as he tore the thing off his arm and smashed its body into the ground. He slammed it with a bloody fist, before getting to his feet and crushing it under his foot. He stomped on it over and over, his heart pounding, adrenaline rushing through him in terror. He could barely breathe, he was beyond all reason, all he could think about was killing this monstrous bug.

He stopped. His breaths were heavy, and a thin layer of sweat formed over his brow and arms. His palms, the wounds on which had clotted, were now freely flowing blood again, and his muscles were screaming about their soreness once again. He stood there, catching his breath, the smashed bug stuck firmly underneath his sneaker.

God damn, he was just _ caked _ in blood and gore right now, wasn’t he?

Hesitantly, he carefully brought his foot off of his attacker. The thing was still alive, just barely. It twitched a little now and then, despite its cracked and broken body. It looked to be some overgrown fly, but it also spouted a pair of mandibles, presumably to act as a mouth. Its coloration was a mixture of dark greens and blues, opposed to the usual grays and blacks of a common mosquito. He really hoped that it wasn’t carrying any pathogen like regular insects back home. The last thing he needed was to be infected by some bizarre virus or disease. Either way, that bite hurt like the devil. Where was a damn bandage when he needed one!? The same orange residue from the corpse was present around this one as well. Maybe it _ was _ infected with something. Or maybe bug guts here were just normally orange.

The commotion must have attracted his friend, because it was by his side before he even realized it. 

“Y-you came back…” He sniffed a little, his eyes watering a little. D-damnit, not now! He was by no means someone who cried over everything, but today had been so confusing and painful and painfully confusing… 

He was broken out of his self-pity when the Knight grabbed his left hand, which was still shredded. “Ow! What are you _ doing? _”

It grasped the hand with both of its own, its mask tilted quizzically. A cold white glow suffused the Knight’s hands, basking the area in its light.

Reality must still be on its smoke break.

The white glow faded, and when it withdrew its hands...nothing had changed. The flesh was still as raw and cut as it had been before. ...What had he expected? His wounds to just magically vanish? He didn’t voice his thoughts out loud, though. His companion already seemed downcast, for whatever reason. He didn’t want to upset the Knight anymore.

“Listen, listen. It’s fine, I...I’m fine. I’ll _ be _ fine. You don’t need to worry.” he tried to sound reassuring as he gingerly patted the Knight on the shoulder… or rather, where the shoulder should be. The thing perked up a little, at the very least. He couldn’t help but smile at that. Maybe things would finally start looking up once again.

Having been reunited, the two continued through the caves. Unfortunately, they encountered a few more bugs. They were just as ravenous and aggressive as the previous fly that attacked him, but they were dispatched with ease by his companion’s odd sword. It certainly did fight unusually, preferring strong blows over finesse. There was a rhythm, at the very least. The Knight also seemingly remained emotionless while dispatching their foes, though that could have just been because he couldn’t see its face. Maybe it had done this so much in the past that it didn’t even need to think about it? He could think about it later when they were in a safer location. At the very least, watching those murderous insects be reduced to mush was… gut-lurching. Speaking of...

He looked down impassively at the Knight’s latest victim, an odd, white-ish cockroach of sorts. Apparently, after it had been through nuclear fallout and grown to massive proportions. Even in death, it was a grotesque being, one that still triggered the primal fear of creepy crawlies in his hindbrain. The smell of the decaying corpse wasn’t helping either. Compared to falling down the cliff, though, it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. The pain from it still nagged at him, even if it had gone down a little.

A tapping on his leg brought his attention back to the Knight, whose sword had already been replaced on its back. That was his cue to get back to moving. This time, however, the Knight seemed to be a bit more… jittery. Maybe excited? Whatever feeling it had, he couldn’t tell. Maybe their surroundings, then? The new area they entered was suffused with a warm cyan glow, and unlike the dim luminance of the previous caverns, it was quite bright. Several butterflies, composed of an odd, jelly substance, flitted to and fro on light blue vines. 

The glow itself seemed to come from a large, glowing, azure cocoon of sorts. He surprised himself by not being repulsed by it. It was the sort of thing that would normally set him off. Pulsating, wriggling… Ugh. But this, something about it just seemed… peaceful, in a sense. A sight he could just spend hours staring at.

That feeling was shattered when his friend jumped up to it, sword in hand, and slashed it open. 

Thick, bioluminescent juices flowed out, as well as many smaller bugs, composed of the same material. Like the nest, they too were cut down by the creature, and exploded into the base liquid. It officially became much more awkward when it cupped handfuls of it, then brought it to its mask, only to rub it over the costume piece.

Remember, reality on its smoke break. Don’t question it.

It became even odder when, glowing juice cupped in hand, came back to him, and offered it to him. The human glared down at the blue slime with disgust and mild horror.

“I-I’d rather not…” Even he drew the line at smearing unknown liquid on him. What if it was some sort of acid? Or what if it carried a disease? Unfortunately, it insisted, bringing the cupped hands closer to his face. He wasn’t getting out of this, wasn’t he?

“Okay, okay, you win. Just… just let me grab some myself.” With its hollow gaze on his back, he bent down to cup a bit of the bright blue liquid. It was surprisingly cool, feeling similar to jello in appearance. Grimacing slightly at the texture, he cupped a small amount with his hands, and-

...No. No, that wasn’t possible.

Under the goopy liquid, he could see the angry flesh and deep cuts slowly knitting themselves shut, as well as their color returning to normal. With it, the pain grew from a roar, to a growl, to a mewl, and finally to nothing. 

“_ N-no way… _” he mumbled under a shaky breath, inspecting his now healed hands. Aside from a few bits of off-color flesh, it was as if he had never injured his hands in the first place. He had to try it again.

Taking another scoop of the substance, he gently smeared it over his face. Like his hands, the pain of the cuts receded. While he couldn’t tell if they healed, at the very least the pain was gone. Would it work on his bicep wound? A minute later, a generous portion was slathered onto gash. He could feel the flesh coming back together, the blood flow stopping, and the small agony disappearing. 

Aside from a bit of muscle soreness, the pain had vanished. That prompted the question of what this blue… revitalization juice was. Wounds didn't just heal up like that, and a substance that could do it just seemed miraculous, bordering on impossible. Still though, as far as impossibilities were concerned, at least this particular one was useful. The thought caused him to chuckle. Another impossibility to add to the pile of today’s insanity. Another oddity to examine later. Another product of reality’s seemingly perpetual smoke break.

They had to keep moving.

About fifteen minutes of walking later, they had come upon a massive, stone door, cracks crisscrossing all over it. To the side of the door, a white, glowing tablet was etched into the stone. While he went to see examine the artifact, the Knight moved to the ancient door, sword in hand. While the death throes of the great door rang throughout the hall, the human carefully looked over the luminant inscriptions carved on the stone. 

The lines and swirls of the carvings were certainly intricate. One point spiraled out into several shorter curls, before terminating into several more spirals, which then coalesced into the edge. Several more trails went throughout the tablet. He stood transfixed, following the branching paths with his gaze. It was hypnotizing, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. If it was some kind of language, he couldn’t read it.

But something was _ there _ , hiding in the shadows, whispering into his mind’s ear, and he could _ feel _ its meaning.

_ Higher Beings, these words are for you alone. _

_Beyond this point you enter the land of King and Creator. _

_ Step across this threshold and obey our laws. _

_Bear witness to the last and only civilization, the eternal kingdom _

_ Hallownest _

...Hallownest? Even without his memory, he was confident this wasn’t anywhere on the globe. (Maybe an Ethiopean town?)

His musings were shattered when the massive crash of rubble collapsing. Had the Knight…

It had. Where the door once stood, a gaping hole had replaced it. Through the rubble, he could see the lamps again, and…

“The town. We’re almost there. We’re almost there!” he ran up to his companion, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him. “Come on!”

There was another small cliff just outside the massive door, but thank god there was a staircase next to it this time. And there they were, back onto the lamp lit path. So close to civilization! A warm bath and bed were both on his mind. He needed rest. Despite the energy he’d gotten from that odd juice, he was exhausted.

He didn’t even know what that stuff was, or what it was supposed to do. While a short term blessing, would it have more negative long term effects? The more he thought about it, the more paranoid he became of his body… responding poorly, to the alien substance, and the more he began to regret slathering so much of it all over him.

Before he could overreact about what would happen if his arms rotted away, they had made it to the town. But, it seemed abandoned. Not a soul in sight. All the buildings were either locked or boarded up, but near the town square…

_Oh thank god, someone else! _ the human smiled to himself. A large figure appeared to be standing near a lone bench under a solitary lamp. The light seemed to be absorbed by its body, as well. He was beyond caring about such trivial matters at this point. He just wanted his food and bed. They both quickly approached. While he went to talk to the figure, his friend went to rest on the bench. The stranger beat him to talking, however. It certainly was larger than his friend, maybe even taller than him if its back wasn’t hunched. It’s whole body, like his companion’s, was an unnatural shade of black, complete with its own cloak and cracked mask.

“Ho there travelers. I’m afraid there’s only me left to ...welcome you,” he spoke. He stumbled over his words, just for a moment, when his gaze fell over the human, but he quickly recovered. “Our town’s gone quiet, you see. The other residents, they’ve all disappeared.”

The human was about to speak, but paused. The entire town just _ vanished? _ And that’s what he greeted them with? How the hell did he _ respond _ to that? To top it off, he felt somehow nervous, meeting the first stranger in this odd place that could speak.

“Uhm… Hello. W-where is this place, exactly?” He cringed at his own words. He sounded like some brainless lost hiker. Which, all things considered, wasn’t far off from his current standing, but that was neither here nor there.

“This town? Dirtmouth is the name it was given so long ago. Once such a lively place, now faded away like a ghost. The people of this town all headed down that well, one by one, into the caverns below. Used to be there was a great kingdom beneath our town. It's long fell to ruin, yet it still draws folks into its depths.”

The human blinked. “A kingdom? Beneath a… _ well? _” He quickly glanced over to the small Knight resting on the bench, whose empty gaze was focused on their conversation. They were a good few paces apart, but the ghost town was silent enough that the Knight could probably hear them perfectly clearly.

The hunched-over being nodded. “Oh, yes. Wealth, glory, enlightenment, that darkness seems to promise all things. I'm sure you too seek your dreams down there.”

“Er… No, not really.” The human spoke up. “I was, uhm… actually hoping if there was a place for me to stay here for a while.”

The older bug - the human assumed he was older - leaned back in surprise, and the human could’ve sworn the eyes on his mask widened slightly. “O-Oh! B-But of _ course _ you can be accommodated here! This empty town hasn’t seen newcomers in so long.”

“T-Thank you,” the human beamed. Finally, the first good news he’s heard since he wound up here. A place to rest his head, some food and drink, maybe even a chance to wash up. “Ah… where can I stay?”

“Well…” the older thing gazed around the dark alleyways, the heavy shadows cast between empty homes by pale streetlamps. A chilled wind blew through the dead streets, a sorrowful howl for those lost to the mysterious kingdom below the earth.“Anywhere will do, I suppose.”

The human blinked. “Wh- Anywhere? I just… pick a house?”

“And why not?” the elder let out a dry laugh. “There’s nobody left to live inside all these homes. Though, I imagine some might lack… proper furnishings.”

“Oh.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. Simply find one that suits you and it’s yours. And please come find me if you need anything. Oh, and, ah…” the Elder’s gaze turned to the small Knight, who had seemingly dozed off on the metal bench. “What of your companion? Will he be staying with you?”

“I’m, uh…” the human rubbed the back of his head. “I’m not sure, actually. I… we just met about an hour or so ago.” What exactly _ were _ the Knight’s goals? They seemed to walk with a purpose. They couldn’t just be aimlessly exploring, right? Would they try to dive down into this strange kingdom below? ...Whatever that was all about?

“Oh. I see.” The Elder’s voice was laced with disappointment. “Well, I suppose having one new resident is better than none. You should go pick out your home now, traveler. Please find me if you need anything at all. Dirtmouth welcomes you.”

The human couldn’t suppress the beaming smile on his face. “T-Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated dumbly as he walked off into the streets to find a suitable home. Who cared if the Knight decided to run off to that well? He’d live. No monstrous bugs around, a safe place to sleep, steady food and water, shelter to protect him from the elements, and best of all, a quiet place to figure out how to get home.

He’d be just fine. He’d get back home in one safe piece.

With no hostile monsters to tear his face off, what could _ possibly _ hurt him from here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and beginning notes are a reference to I Won't Hurt You by The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band.
> 
> This story is a collab between me and a friend named Piston. I'm pretty unfamiliar with AO3 tags by the way, so if you know any tags I should add, please let me know!


	2. Gimmie Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ooh, see the fire is sweepin' our very street today.”

The human had to admit, for a ghost town whose population had disappeared to a hidden kingdom underneath a well, Dirtmouth was in good shape.

That’s not to say it was pristine, far from it. A fair number of the odd buildings had collapsed, and plenty of the remaining structures featured shattered or boarded-up windows. Some of the buildings' stone and wood walls were cracked and could use a lick of paint, but they seemed stable. The gradual decay of the town only added to the eeriness it exuded; the inky darkness choked the village, with only the sickly glow of the lamps to drive it away. The shadows that remained huddled from the light didn’t help the mood.

He had been walking over the rough, cobbled road that wound through the small village, hands firmly planted in his pockets. It was something better to do than just sit on that cold metal bench under the dim lamp. The physical exertion kept him somewhat warm, and he could gather his thoughts while familiarizing himself with this old place. There was a lot to think about, and what little time he had at the moment would be dedicated to it. The conundrums he poured over were simple, yet vital. Such as who he was. Or how to get home. Or where the _ hell _ he was.

His mind wasn’t currently on those topics, however. Rather, he had moved onto pondering what exactly the Elder and Knight were.

The two of them were obviously not human, that much was certain to him. Their proportions were all off, bodies composed of some odd dark substance, the Knight surviving that fall… and their masks, they hadn’t taken them off once. At least the Elder was capable of speech. Overall, they were strange, to put it mildly.

Scratch that, this whole society was strange. Well, whatever “society” was left. Even their architecture was bizarre; the houses were much less traditional boxes with roofs, but instead an odd spiral shell shape, not unlike the carved rocks up on those cliffs.

That train of thought brought him back to one of his current problems; shelter. Seeing that their previous owners were gone and probably to never return, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with “borrowing” a home for himself whilst staying in Dirtmouth. Unfortunately, most of their doors and windows were locked, and the few that weren’t had either been ransacked or become the nests of unknown fauna. If there wasn’t anywhere good to stay that was unlocked, he may have to resort to breaking in a window or two. Granted, that would defeat the purpose of finding a nice house in the first place, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

He sat down on a nearby bench, his legs sore. How long had he been walking, an hour or so? Time sure does fly when you go through an existential crisis, after all.

“I take it your house hunting didn’t go as planned?” asked the voice of the Elder. The human blinked, sitting up. Wait… he must have looped around somehow; he was sitting down on the same bench where they had first met. Under the same lamp, to boot.

“No. Everyone locked up before going down the well.” He idly bunted a rock near the bench, sending it skidding a few inches.

“Locked up, you say?” A dark hand came to his mask, rubbing the bottom of it. “Maybe some of the other residents have a few spare keys.”

“Hold on, it’s not just you?” The human asked incredulously. How many others lurked in the shadows here? Were they being watched right now?

The Elder held up his other hand in a defensive gesture. “Now, don’t go accusing me of anything. It slipped my mind.”

So it was more than just the three of them. But still, where were the other residents? And speaking of… where did the Knight go off to? He hadn’t seen head nor tail of it since he had gone on his little walk. Maybe it went down the well? After all, why else would it have come to this backwater town? The resale value of the property?

“Well, where can I find them?” he quietly asked, “and have you seen the Knight?”

“Find _ her _,” the Elder corrected, “Only Iselda is here. She’s the mapper’s wife, you see. As for your friend, the little thing decided to explore those underground crossroads.” So he had some time to establish himself, then.

“So… just her then? Where can I find her?” So much for this place not being abandoned, then. Instead of just one resident, minus him, it was a staggering population of two. Wonderful.

“Oh, yes, right. Iselda should be at her store right now.” The Elder replied.

“And that is...?” he continued, one of his hands twirling in a small circle.

“Forgive me, I forget guests don’t know our town,” he said, pointing to one of the several shell-like homes darting the edge of the square. Unlike the rest of its neighbors, there was a dull glimmer of light in its windows.

He nodded in thanks, before pulling himself up from the bench, legs still sore and made his way over to Iselda’s home. Unlike its neighbors, the building was in fairly good shape, save for a few patches on the exterior, as well as fraying paint. The door itself was also quite scuffed, but still daunting to stand in front of.

_ Knock knock knock. _

The sound of shuffling came from the inside of the store, only for it to suddenly cease just from the other side of the door.

“Um… hello?” he called, “I’m looking for Iselda.”

_ “And who’s asking?” _ came a muffled voice; it sounded feminine, though with a hard edge.

“I’m…” he said, struggling for a name to use, “I’m... a human.” Dammit.

_ “Stop playing with me, boy,” _ snapped the voice, _ “Nothing of such a name exists. I would know.” _

“A-and how do you?” he replied, “Nothing’s impossible.” He thought his words were strong, but they ultimately ruined by his nervousness.

_ “I’ve been around the world, far more than you could know. And franky, I’m not in the mood for your games.” _ Surprisingly, the tone softened after that statement, _ “A new visitor is a rarity, though. Come to the window.” _

That conversation... could have gone better, but he hadn’t been turned away which was a win in his books. Despite that, he had the feeling that whatever happened next was going to be awkward. If humanity truly didn’t exist here, said awkwardness would only become an inevitability. Maybe the town being abandoned was truly a blessing in disguise. The alternative was far less pleasant. _ ‘Come see the one and only human! A freak of nature! Five dollars per viewing.’ _

He strolled to the side of the house, and went up to one of the windows. Peering inside, he saw that it was a small, yet very cozy space. Instead of a more traditional light, such as the outside lamps, the inside was instead illuminated by several fireflies in jars. Bit odd to use bugs instead of electrical lights, but he had to admit that the glow given off was much more calming than the harsh light produced by the bulbs.

Of course, most of this was observed around the lone occupant of the building. She must have been waiting for him. Had he been asked about what he was expecting this Iselda to look like, he would have guessed that she would have been like both the Elder and the Knight; a smaller figure wearing a similar white mask, having a body composed of a black substance, and wearing a cloak concealing much of her body.

That expectation was promptly shattered when he got a clear look at her.

She… was definitely _ not _ like that. Not in the slightest. Unlike the Elder and Knight, she was unmasked, for a start. Her face was… it screamed _ “Bug!” _ at him. A large-ish oval of sorts with two black, beady eyes staring down at him. _ Down at him. _ Cripes, she was a good head or two taller than him. Intimidating, to say the least. Her two antennas were tied in some sort of braid, which trailed behind her head. And was that a thorax instead of a waist? Her lithe biology was surreal and alien to him.

Iselda’s voice broke him out of another brief existential crisis, “...Well, you were right. Why don’t you come in?” For whatever reason, she sounded tired, though was that a hint of wonder in her voice? Probably not.

With a nervous breath, he walked back in front of the house and gently opened the door, which had been unlocked by the time he reached it. Being inside of Iselda’s home was even cozier than it looked through the window; the firefly lamps seeping a pale glow into the small house. The first thing the human noticed was how much paper there was, every corner of the already-cramped room filled with it. But at the same time, it wasn’t disorderly or scattered; it was all neatly shelved or stored. He could safely assume every last page was scrawled with maps and charts.

There was a small counter in the center of the room, probably where Iselda or the map-maker received customers. Behind that was what looked like some kind of bunk bed, cut out from the wall to conserve what little space was available. Iselda herself stood behind the counter, hunched over with her head propped up with an arm, her expression one of exhausted boredom.

“You’re a new face, I’ll say that much,” she mused as he walked in and closed the door behind him. “I’ve never seen another bug like you. You seem so… _ squishy. _”

So they _ were _ bugs, he knew it! Though, that meant reality didn’t just go on a smoke break; it had gone like a father heading out to gather more cigarettes, only to never return. He wasn’t sure what to make of her other comment, though, so he just ignored it for the time being.

“Yeah, I’m… not from around here,” he smiled nervously. His hand ran up his arm and squeezed it gently, anxious to get his new house keys. The sooner this conversation was over, the better.

“Neither am I,” Iselda tilted her head at him. “Where are you from, then? I’m sure I’ve heard of it, wherever it may be; you get to be familiar with many places when you marry a cartographer.”

The human opened his mouth to answer, only to suck in a shaky breath when he came up without one. The sheer gravity of his situation had been clouded by reality’s second-hand smoke, but that bastard had finally, _ finally _ extinguished the butt of his cigarette and let the human take in the full terror of real life. He couldn’t remember where he came from. He couldn’t remember who he grew up with, he couldn’t remember his family, he couldn’t remember any friends…

He couldn’t remember his home.

He couldn’t remember anything.

This wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t a hallucination. He was here, in this moment, in a new and alien world, with his old life essentially extinguished, voided. And he was talking with a tall bug-woman in hopes of getting a free house key from her. Where did he go wrong in life?

God, he was going to have a breakdown if he didn’t get out of here quickly.

Iselda, for better or for worse, noticed his distress. “...Is it a… sensitive subject, perhaps?”

The human shuffled his feet, suddenly enticed by the floor. A very dusty floor that looked like it hadn’t been swept in some time. “...You could say that,” he mumbled hopelessly.

Iselda straightened up a bit, a twinge of empathy in her eyes. “I understand. We all have secrets better left kept silent.” _ He didn’t, not anymore. _

“We so rarely get passersby in this town, and here I am, scaring away the only one in ages…” Somewhere in the middle of her sentence, she started slouching down again.

“D-Don’t worry about it, it’s alright…” the human said, eager to end the conversation quickly and on a somewhat positive note. One piece of information he did possess popped into his mind, “And besides, I’m not a passerby; I’m, uh, actually looking for a place to stay.”

Iselda’s somewhat glum expression immediately shot up at his words. “A place to stay? As in, permanently?”

“I… yeah. Yes.” _ Until I can get home, at least. _

Iselda rose up from her slump over the counter, standing as tall as the short roof would allow her, her hands frozen in front of her face and her eyes wide with surprise. “O-Oh my! We haven’t gotten newcomers in such a long time…”

“I, uhm, spoke with the Elder outside-”

“You’re looking for a house, right? And Elderbug pointed you my way?” Elderbug was his name? Really? “I’ve held onto some spare keys for the empty homes around here. I’d be glad to help you get situated.”

The human’s face lit up. “T-That’d be great, thank you!”

Iselda grabbed something from behind the counter; a ring of keys, the human noticed, and they went outside together, strolling through the empty roads. The human pulled his scarf up closer to his face to keep out the chilled wind. If Iselda was bothered by the cold, she didn’t show it.

She walked ahead of him, guiding him through the dark alleyways. While she went ahead, however, the human couldn’t help but look at the long scars running across her back. He kept his gaze trained at the cobblestone road, electing to keep quiet about it.

“This town’s been so empty for so long; it’s refreshing to have a new face around,” she thought aloud. “We ought to celebrate! I’ll prepare a hearty meal tonight, and the _ whole town _ can have a _ grand _ feast!” Her offer was genuine, but he picked up on the joking sarcasm; the ‘whole town’ consisted of only three people, four if he got to meet the cartographer.

“Uhm, that’s uh, really not necessary-”

“Please, don’t worry about it. It’s been so long since this dreary ghost town had anything worth celebrating. Maybe even my husband will be home in time…?” she said. They stopped in front of what Iselda referred to as a “good enough house”, and she unlocked the door with a dull grey key from around the ring. She unhooked it and handed it to the human.

“I hope it suits you. If you need anything, let Elderbug or I know, and I’ll come down to get you when dinner is ready.”

“R-Right, thank you,” the human stammered. The door was closed between them, and the human was alone in his new home.

It was similarly cozy to Iselda’s, illuminated by a pale glow from firefly lanterns, but was far more spacious than the cartographer’s home. It was barely the size of a studio apartment, but still seemed to be partitioned into a few rooms. Two of them housed bedrooms, another seemed to be a simple storage room, while the main area housed what looked like a small kitchen as well as a cushioned bench that was pathetically attempting to pass as a ‘couch’. Everything had a light layer of dust over their respective surface.

The human ignored all of this, however, in favor of storming to the closest bedroom, slamming a pillow into his face, and screaming.

* * *

And scream. And scream. And continue screaming. He couldn’t remember how long he sat there, shrieking his misery into the stuffed fabric. One final scream came tumbling out, but instead was replaced by a fit of coughing. Followed by more coughing. He was left breathing heavily into the pillow, tears leaking from his eyes. _ Damn it. Damn it. DAMN IT! _

Sniffling a bit, he finally brought his head out from his sanctuary of the mucus-covered pillow. Why him? _ Why was this happening to him!? _ He buried his face back into the pillow, and attempted to shriek again, only for his raw throat to give its own phantom scream of pain, followed by another series of hacking. It all gave way to sobs that racked his entire body; all the emotions of fear and pain poured into his salty tears, staining the pillow further. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t!

At the peak of his meltdown, a soft… _ something _ brushed his cheek, wiping away a few of his tears. He didn’t care who the appendage belonged to, or why it was there. Something warm wrapped around his body, holding him in its embrace. The human leaned into the hug, trying to wrap his arms around his savior. But… there wasn’t anything there. Just a brilliant, glowing light. Whatever it was, he melted into its grasp, crying his heart out.

He couldn’t remember what had happened after, just that he woke up lying down, clutching the pillow to his chest. Which had been covered in his bodily fluids. Ew…

The disgust of it all quickly left him, however. Whatever the reason, the feeling of sadness and loss had abandoned him as well, along with any feeling of happiness or joy. He just felt… hollow inside. Like his emotions had been plucked out with tweezers. In a way, it was comforting to be without them, but it was like there was a physical gap in his body, sapping his energy.

With the absence of emotions in his chest, he could feel the exhaustion nagging at him. It wasn’t just from the floodgates in his eyes opening up; it was a culmination of everything that had happened. Wandering on the cliffs, falling down the cliff, his injuries from the cliff, the healing of said injuries from the cliff… It was mostly the cliff, now that he thought about it.

At the very least, he was finally resting on a real bed. A bed that felt like heaven to his battered body, even if it was lumpy in all the wrong places and a tad small. And also contaminated with his bodily fluids.

He rose up from his position, stretching slightly and grimacing at the snot and tears now staining his shirt. Hopefully, there was somewhere he could wash it. And the rest of his clothing, for that matter. Maybe also a way to repair them. If his experiences here so far were the norm, he would need to repair the scrapes and tears they would inevitably accumulate over time.

Since he was finally somewhere safe, somewhat relaxing, and _ alone _ , it would be a good time to start thinking about… everything. Though, ‘everything’ meant almost nothing, since his memories only went back about an hour or so. At the very least, he could safely assume he didn’t always live in this strange world with strange creatures, otherwise he wouldn’t have found them so, well, _ strange _. That only meant that somehow, he wound up here. The question was, did he walk here on his own, or did something take him here-

_ A dark, lonely road. The frigid wind gushing past him, his scarf whipping behind him. An inky black sky. The agony in his feet and legs. The raw willpower pushing him onwards into the uncertain and unknown. _

-Nope, he definitely walked here.

That line of thought was torn off course when he noticed a weight against his outer thigh. He reached down into his pockets and pulled out a small, rectangular box of sorts; his smartphone, he realized after a second. Its shiny surface reflecting his sorry face back at him. God, he looked _ repulsive _. His face was coated in dried blood, snot, and tears. Raw scars lined his cheeks and his hair was streaked with dirt. He quickly turned the screen on, anxious to stop staring at his filthy visage.

72% battery life, and obviously no cell data or internet connection. After all, he couldn’t expect bug-people who toted around swords to have Wi-Fi. That only left him what he had already downloaded to the phone beforehand.

The first thing to look at was the pictures. That had to be the best way to jog his memory, a good family photo or maybe something from a vacation. ...A minute of sifting through his picture library dampened that hope. Apparently, he had saved well over a thousand lame memes, nearly all of which relied on inside jokes he no longer understood. Tapping around to get to only the photos he had taken with his camera, he let his eyes dart from picture to picture.

He was wearing a fancy suit in a bathroom mirror. He was surrounded by unfamiliar faces in a dimly lit bowling alley. He was wearing sunglasses, his hair flying everywhere in the wind as he stood with his back to a beach. His face had a look of exhaustion, yet elation, while in a sports jersey and covered in mud on a rainy day. He looked far younger and was in his pajamas, sitting under a decorated tree surrounded by colorful presents and unfamiliar faces. He was standing outside of a movie theatre, holding a bucket of popcorn with two unrecognizable people on either side of him. His face was nearly invisible in the dark, the only thing clearly seen being a single figure wielding a guitar on a stage surrounded by colorful beams of light.

He was _ smiling _. He was smiling and it told him nothing.

He shut off his phone, throwing his head back into the pillows in frustration. A deep breath was taken in, then let out. After a moment, he woke the phone again. Quitting was not an option.

There weren’t many games downloaded, but they wouldn’t tell him anything. He didn’t have any social media. The map, predictably, did jack shit. For some really weird reason, he only ever used a private tab on web browsers, so there went checking his web history. Stupid past self.

There was _ nothing _. What would he even use this damn device for, to check the time? It might cheer him up to wow the bugs of Dirtmouth with humanity’s pinnacle of personal devices, but that would definitely cause more problems than it was worth.

...There was _ one _ thing left he could check. With steady hands, he tapped on the music app.

Just at a glance, the last thing he had listened to was a playlist titled “Nice”, with a picture that looked like a screaming cat. Past him just picked something at random from his meme collection, clearly. The human opened it up and clicked the first song, not bothering to look at the title. He just placed his phone down, turned up the volume, and rested his head back against the pillows as soft strums of a guitar echoed from his speaker.

A voice, a hauntingly _ familiar _ voice, flooded his mind, singing to him like a father trying to put a baby to sleep.

Something flashed back.

_ “Wild, wild horses~” _

He sat through the whole song, flowed over its currents and rested along its riverbeds. Beneath his closed eyes tears welled up, and for a moment in the darkness, he almost thought he could see the face of a friend.

As the track came to a close, he quickly hit the pause button to ride out the silence as long as possible, soaking up the afterglow in a cold sweat. God, what… what _ was _ that? Did he almost remember something? He opened the playlist again and scrolled through it. None of the names were familiar, but could their tunes hide a deeper meaning? It certainly could be possible. After all, wasn’t music stored differently than regular memories?

Now that he thought about it, if he’d really lost his memory, why could he still read? And why’d he remember his music, anyway? Or what a smartphone even was, much less how to use it? This could have been normal for amnesia as far as he knew. He didn’t know how the hell amnesia was supposed to work, anyway. Maybe it was some kind of selective amnesia.

The repetitive questions brought a headache to the forefront of his brain. With a groan, he flopped onto his back, hands grasping his head. The headache gave way to sleep, its tendrils dragging him under. That was where he laid, silent and peaceful, until a sudden knock at the door broke him from his slumber.

_ Ugh… _ was it time for dinner already? Iselda hadn’t been gone for that long. Or maybe she had been. He had long since lost his grasp of time in this purgatory. A few minutes, a few hours, what was the difference?

Getting up from the bed, he made his way to the door of the house, then promptly opened it, rubbing his eyes as he did so.

The stranger who had knocked was definitely not Iselda.

“Oh, hello there! I heard a newcomer had moved in, but I was starting to doubt that when nobody answered the door for a moment there.” The human blinked. Was this guy calling him _ slow? _

Who was ‘this guy,’ anyway? He was about his height, had a bluish-gray shell with a slight pot-belly (or was he just slouching? It was hard to tell), and had a pale face with dark eyes. His most notable features were the long blade strapped to his waist, and the large mask-like object that sat atop his head like a hat.

“Uhh… Hi?” the human slurred, still half asleep his emotional power nap. He leaned up against the small door frame, his arm propped to the side to keep him upright. He almost considered closing the door on this stranger and going back to sleep. Maybe this dude was right about him being slow.

“My name is Quirrel,” he said. “I’m a new arrival to this small town myself, though I don’t plan on staying long. Could never stay in one place for too long.” Quirrel looked him up and down, his expression one of bewildered curiosity. “Though, despite all the places I’ve been before, I can’t recall having ever met a being such as yourself. What’s your name, traveler?”

The human couldn’t recall having been asked for his whole life story. He supposed everyone was a world-class traveler around here.

He _ also _ still couldn’t recall his own name, so he gripped the door frame nervously, unable to voice a response. Pursing his lips, he racked his brain for an answer- any answer- to give for a question as simple as his name. He looked down at the ground, averting his gaze from Quirrel’s.

“Is everything alright? You seem-”

A totally random word popped in his head.

“Chance,” he blurted out. It took him a full second before he realized how awkward he just made things for both of them.

“Chance?” Quirrel parroted. “That’s… a unique name. ...I was just saying, are you alright? You look a little bit, er… wet.”

The human, having now named himself Chance, glanced down to see that the front of his shirt was still smeared with snot and tears from his little ‘crying alone in the dark in fear of the unknown’ festival. He quickly wiped his face on his sleeve, more than a little embarrassed by the dark streaks it left on his clothing, and shrugged. “It’s nothing,” he assured. “I’m fine. Just, ah, just feeling a bit under the weather, that’s all.”

Quirrel looked skeptical, but didn’t push the subject further. “Speaking off, I don’t mean to impose, but may I step inside for a moment? The weather out here is dreary, and standing out here with your door open can’t be doing your home any favors.”

Chance was suddenly hyper-aware of the cold wind blowing through his door and the goosebumps growing on his arms. He quickly ushered Quirrel in before closing the door behind him with a heavy thud. Quirrel glanced around at the empty house, sifting a small bit of dust on the floor with his foot.

“I take it you’ve just moved in?” Was he trying to say his house was dirty? ...Well, the human supposed he’d be absolutely right if he was. The first thing he did when he got inside was make an absolute mess of his bedsheets, which only added onto the pile of things he’d have to clean when he got the time.

“Y-Yeah,” Chance mumbled out. He stood around awkwardly in the middle of the room for a minute, glancing around, almost as unfamiliar with the house as Quirrel was. It was very plain upon second glance; the walls were devoid of any decorations, and the most colorful thing in the room was an old carpet under the not-couch that was in desperate need of a vacuum cleaner. It gave no clues as to the old owners of this house, or if anyone had lived here at all before.

“It’s a very nice home regardless,” Quirrel complimented, taking in the room. “Fairly spacious compared to some of the other houses near the square.”

“Yeah, it’s nice…” Chance sighed. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere; they were both grasping at straws here. At least, that was what he thought, until Quirrel turned to him with curiosity in his dark eyes.

“So what brings you to this small ghost town?” he asked. “This place is said to rarely get visitors, and yet two newcomers show up within a day.” Chance neglected to mention the third, smaller newcomer who had vanished down a well just a few hours prior.

Truthfully, he didn’t know. If he really did walk on his own all the way to Hallownest, he didn’t remember why anymore. Could he just… make something up? For Quirrel? Could he keep his story straight until he found his past again? He didn’t know if he could live a lie while looking for the truth at the same time. But he didn’t really have a choice, did he? He spoke slowly:

“I traveled here from-”

_ “I thought I had it all toge-ther~!” _

Both parties jumped at the sudden voice in the room. Chance frantically reached into his pocket to tear out his phone while the sound of a piano echoed around. He fiddled with it furiously, failing the fingerprint recognition three times with his sweaty hands, forcing him to type out the password manually(another thing he should've forgotten, but didn’t), and tap on the pause button until the unfittingly funky music ceased.

A long silence fell between them.

“... Er… Sorry about that…”

Quirrel leaned forward in fascination towards the human and the mysterious device in his hands. “My word!” he breathed in awe. “What _ was _ that? It sounded almost like… _ music! _”

“Oh, uh…” Chance, flushed red with embarrassment, shrugged before quickly pocketing the device. “Its, a uh…” Was he going through with this? Did he _ really _ have the patience to explain what a smartphone was, in complete detail, to what was essentially an _ alien _ who would be baffled by the advanced technology behind an electric lamp?

...No, of course not.

“I just picked it up. On the side of the road, on my way here,” he said.

“Really? Things like that exist just lying around?” Quirrel said. “Perhaps I may stumble upon one myself one of these days!”

“Y-Yeah, perhaps…”

Another long pause. Quirrel rose from the not-couch and tipped his mask like a hat. “Well, I’ve imposed upon you for too long. I must be off now, though I may visit again, if you don’t mind my presence. You are a _ fascinating _ friend to have, Outsider!”

_ Fascinating. _ That was the word he used. It suddenly occurred to the human how formal everyone’s language was. Not just Quirrel, but Iselda and Elderbug spoke to him like that before. It was a far cry from anything Shakespearean, but seemed more like… old English? He wasn’t a linguist. How’d he have this guess anyway, if he’d lost his memories? He gave Quirrel a weak wave and a smile as the door closed with a dull thud.

The gestures evaporated soon after, returning to a frown. Another new bug, though this one was transient. What were the odds of three new visitors in one day? Probably nothing more than a coincidence, after all, how does that old saying go? Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, thrice is ninjas? Yeah, something like that.

His arms swung ineffectively at his sides. He probably wouldn’t be getting any new visitors until Iselda came by to fetch him, so what to do… what… to… do…?

A few seconds of thought bore fruit. This place was certainly a pigsty: he might as well begin cleansing the house while he had the time.

He gave the living room a critical look over. Still like before, dust was everywhere. Dust on the floor, dust on the table, dust now on him. Ugh, it was unbearable. There had to be a mop, or maybe a dust cloth. He went to the kitchen, which also reeked of spoiled food. Another task to add to the growing pile of jobs. After rooting through a few drawers full of various implements, he finally found what he sought; a spare scrap of cloth. Time to get to cleaning.

The methodical task of wiping down the house took a lot longer than he would have thought, but it was surprisingly therapeutic. There was nothing quite like solving a problem with a bit of elbow grease. It was boring, simpleminded work, but anything to take his mind off of the insanity was appreciated. He had finished wiping down the table, and moved onto the sad excuse of a couch.

As he dusted off his new- temporary- home, he thought back to his conversation with Quirrel. _ Why _ did his phone have to go off in the middle of a conversation? He hated having to play dumb about its workings, but what could he do? Explain what the hell it was supposed to be? His mind wandered to the phone itself, as well as his findings on it. Was he even the same person in those pictures, the one who looked so happy and carefree?

And most importantly was his name. Well, new name, that he randomly picked on a whim. _ Chance _. What did that have to do with anything? Where’d the name come from? A thought occurred to him. He paused his dusting to check his phone.

...Of course, he had gotten the name from an artist on his playlist. His eyes must have glanced over the word when he was browsing it earlier. Well, if he was going to name himself after them, he hoped their music was good, at the very least. He didn’t have the time to sit and listen to them now, since the inevitable nostalgic tears would probably distract him from cleaning. He made a mental note to give it a listen later.

He had finished up the chair. The rest of the cleaning went by in a blur. He gave the living room a final look over. It was much better, but a generous layer of dust still occupied the floor. Maybe he could find a broom in one of the other buildings. Not like he needed to worry about smashing windows now, though it might be slightly less barbaric to simply ask for one.

He was in such a groove that a succession of several sharp knocks at the door escaped his notice. It did throw off his rhythm, which was shattered upon the second barrage of rapping.

“Coming!” he loudly said, putting the cloth down and heading for the door. Upon opening said door, he found Iselda standing outside his new home.

She was wearing an expression that seemed happy, if he was correct. Maybe it was her upright posture, or the way her eyebrows were arched. These bugs’ body language was at least somewhat similar to humanity’s own.

“Everything is ready.” She said, a bit of joy in her otherwise naturally bored tone. “There are even more guests than was anticipated.”

“More guests?” he asked, “Like Quirrel?”

“So you’ve met him! My husband will also be joining us. I convinced him to stay with us for a meal!” That explained why Iselda looked so happy. So he would be getting to meet this cartographer after all? Another new face to add to his quickly growing compendium.

Both Chance and Iselda took off down the street, the noise of their footsteps blown away by the wind.

Iselda broke the monotonous droning of the wind, “In all the excitement of a new visitor, I forgot to ask your name. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s… um…,” Well, the one he gave Quirrel seemed to work, “It’s Chance.” The name still felt foreign on his tongue; it’d take a while to get used to.

“Chance, you say,” Iselda remarked, “That is certainly quite the odd name. Where do you hail from?”

Another lie couldn’t hurt, could it? “...I’m not comfortable saying.” That wasn’t a lie, actually. Win.

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” She said, shrugging a little. “We all have our reasons.”

The two found themselves in front of a smaller home near the square.

“So, is this your home?” He asked, shifting a bit on his feet.

“Not quite,” she admitted, “It is more of a... town hall. A feast within our shop would be impossible.”

Upon entering, Chance was greeted by a larger (and much cleaner) version of his own home. Unlike it, a small dining area sat off, connected to both the living area and kitchen, forming a singular large space. The table housed in the dining area was a nice one, made of some sort of ebony wood he didn’t recognize. Seated around it were Quirrel, the Elderbug, and a new figure. This one could only be the cartographer.

Unlike the rest of the bugs, he was a very squat individual. Unlike his wife, whose antennas were tied in an odd braid, his flowed out behind him, tied to the spectacles attached to his head. Speaking of that head, there was a very long, thin trunk of sorts going down much of his front. He was wearing some kind of cloth clothing, though they seemed a bit absent. Behind him, many different bags were laid out, overflowing with paper and quills.

He was the first to speak, “So this is the stranger you were referring to!” he laughed, “Come closer! Let me get a look at you!”

“Um… Hello?” he hesitantly said, stepping forward slightly.

“Corny, you’re making him nervous!” Iselda scolded from the kitchen. She was bringing a large pot filled to the brim with some kind of stew to the table, which was set down with an almighty thud. The smell coming off of it was an odd one, but rather pleasant. Chance had already taken a seat at the table next to Quirrel.

“What have you cooked up for us, Iselda?” The Elderbug asked. He had taken a seat next to this ‘Corny’. That must’ve been some kind of pet name, right?

“An old recipe of mine,” Iselda cheerfully replied, “It’s hearty, easy to make, and good on the table or the road.”

“But what’s _ in _ it?” Elderbug asked once again.

“A little bit of this and that,” Iselda dismissed. While the two continued their banter on soup, the human decided to talk to this “Cartographer”.

“So…” he began, “You’re Iselda’s husband, right?”

“Who else would I be? Cornifer, at your service,” he replied. He added, “But what about you? I’ve never seen anyone who shares your looks.” Was that supposed to be an insult or-... oh, forget it.

“I’m Chance,” The human said. Maybe saying it enough would make it true. “I’m… Well, I’m not from here.”

“Fascinating,” Cornifer said quietly, “And where are you from, exactly? I’m sure it would be quite strange, seeing how you came from it.”

Damnit, why was everyone asking that? “I’d prefer to not say.”

Cornifer shrugged, “If you insist. If you change your mind though, I’m willing to listen.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a very stressed sounding Iselda nearly shouting, “Why don’t we start our little feast?” The Elder mumbled something about just asking a question, but he went ignored. She grabbed the ladle and scooped up a healthy dollop of the stew.

“Why don’t our guests be served first?” She asked, before grabbing Quirrel’s bowl and putting a serving of soup in it. The same was done with his own bowl. It’s contents were an odd grey mess of broth and crushed plants, still steaming. It definitely wasn’t any kind of soup from back home. It has a distinctly _ alien _ look and scent, but hopefully it would taste good enough.

Chance looked from the stew to see that everyone had been served, including Iselda sitting down now. Even while sitting, she was taller than everyone else at the table by a large margin. It was a bit discomforting, actually.

“We’re all here, dig in!” she smiled. Everyone gladly started eating their meals, taking spoonful after spoonful of Iselda’s soup while chattering amongst themselves. Chance slowly glanced down into his bowl, carefully eyeing the stew as he absentmindedly stirred it with his spoon. It was a bit more white-ish than grey, upon second glance, with chopped up greens floating on the surface. A few chunks were present as well, the bits presumably being some kind of meat, maybe. Of course, it probably wasn’t exactly chicken, though that only left him wondering exactly what was in his bowl.

It kind of reminded him of oyster stew. He never liked oyster stew. Or rather, felt that he never liked oyster stew.

“Well, try some!” Quirrel waved his spoon in the general direction of the human’s bowl. “It may not be the same as they have where you’re from, but it’s a _ universal _ delight, I assure you!” He emphasized the point by eating another bite from his own bowl.

Iselda laughed lightly at Quirrel’s compliments. “My cooking isn’t _ that _ amazing…”

“But it _ is _!” Cornifer nearly exploded. “The elegant balance of spice, the freshest diced vegetables, the finest meats butchered by your own masterful handling of a nail, all broiling perfecting in a simmering broth that makes the mouth water…” He waved his arms around dramatically, as though recounting epic tales of warriors and heroes ages past.

“_ Corny! _ ” Iselda blushed. “You’re _ embarrassing _ me!”

While the two engaged in their lover’s quarrel, Chance glanced back down at his soup. Cornifer’s description, albeit somewhat overdramatized, _ did _ sound pretty convincing…

With his spoon, he poked one of the small chunks of meat. What was that saying, “You Only Live Once”? Besides, it would be rude not to at least try it. 

Tentatively, he took a small spoonful of the stew and brought it to his mouth. He gave it a look of distaste, before shrugging then taking it into his maw. The taste was… it was all across the board. There was a bit of savory meat, the earthy taste of some kind of vegetable, and was that basil? Definitely an odd taste, but not a bad one.

Have you ever had a sip of wine described as “earthy”? He imagined that somehow it would be similar to the soup’s flavor. He took another spoonful, then another. Quirrel piped up with a grin, “What did I tell you?”

“It... _ is _ great…” Chance smiled, marveling at the first meal he’d eaten since he arrived in this strange, alien world. It was an acquired taste, but to him, it was a symbol of safety, of shelter, of hope. Here he was, eating a tasty, warm meal, surrounded by strangers turned neighbors and maybe even friends, and afterward, he’d have a warm, cozy bed to return to.

Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chance enjoyed the rest of his evening with the people of Dirtmouth, eventually finishing his stew and only staying a little longer to talk before he retired. He stumbled into his dark new house, rested his back against the door for a moment, before staggering over to his bed, the snot and tears having long since dried, and collapsed-

_ -into her soft and warm embrace, her wings wrapping around him like massive blankets. Her brilliant light was all-encompassing, a glorious sun stepping forth from the horizon and into his arms. Her hide was fuzzy, and the human couldn’t help but hide his face in her chest, taking a deep breath of her. She smelled sickly sweet, like an antique candy store. A warmth rose in his heart as he pulled his head up and gazed up into her gleaming eyes, orange like an autumn sunrise, orange like fresh-picked tangerines covered in crisp morning dew, orange like a cozy fireplace on a frosty night. Something in her eyes beckoned him to come closer, to come _ deeper _ , and he obliged. As their faces came close, the human briefly deprived himself of her beauty, but with his closed eyes, he leaned down, and just as their lips nearly touched, he opened his mouth for her, and- _

-vomited all over his fucking bedsheets.

The bile broke him out of his miasma of dreams, bringing him awake to its burning sensation. Before he could even rationalize thought, he was already spitting into his bedsheets to dislodge the remaining acid from his mouth. The vile taste and pounding head finally brought him back to his senses, where he was upright on his bed, vomit coating the sheets.

He took in several deep breaths, trying to collect himself. Well, after he had shoved the soiled sheets as far from his body as he could. His knees were against his chest as he cradled them with his arms, rocking back and forth slightly. The wispy remnants of his dream had already abandoned him, leaving just faint traces. Something about the sun…?

With a grunt, he got to his feet unsteadily, groping in the dark for one of the lanterns. He grasped one of the glass globes, shaking it slightly to wake up the fireflies inside.

By then, the smell of the retch had made itself known. A rotting stench pervaded his nostrils, causing him to gag. With the glow of the fireflies filling the air, he could see the full extent of the damage. The retch had covered the sheets, leaving few patches left untouched. While the issue of how he would clean the sheets was obvious, it was the least of his concerns. He couldn’t help but stare at the bile. Specifically, it’s color.

A bright shade of orange. A disgusting, yet beautiful shade of orange. _ What the fuck!? _ It was surreal. He closed his eyes, rubbing them through his eyelids. Maybe when he opened his eyes back up, the vomit would be grey-ish or green-ish? Yeah, that had to be. Unfortunately, the same bright orange greeted him.

He carried the lantern with him out of the room, desperate for something to get this taste out of his mouth. As he left the room, he noticed that when the pale light of the fireflies left the bedroom in darkness, it was replaced with a very dim orange-ish glow. Because of _ course _ his vomit was glow-in-the-dark now.

He stumbled into the main room of his new house, turning towards the kitchen area. Oh right, running water was an alien concept in this world. He spat on the floor, an orange splotch of saliva on the dusty carpet. He eyed the saliva with a glare. He was no doctor, but he knew having orange, glowing spit was a whole new _ kind _ of health risk.

He needed help.

Iselda. Iselda would know. Or maybe Elderbug. Or maybe even Cornifer, he traveled the whole width and breadth of this place, he must have seen this kind of thing before, right?

Quickly throwing on his coat, he grabbed his lantern again and stormed out the front door into the cold.

* * *

Having a cup of fresh water to wash out the last traces of vomit in his mouth was nice. Watching the people who gave you said water pace back and forth through their house, as though they were panicking over your symptoms even more than you yourself were, while muttering curses under their breath, was not quite as nice.

Iselda stormed past him again, her arms crossed across her chest and her shoulders tense, before turning sharply on her heel and striding right past him again. She grumbled something unintelligible, stopped for a moment, stared at a wall, and kept walking back and forth in front of him like some deranged dance.

Cornifer, meanwhile, stood still near Chance, trying to comfort him but obviously also trying to keep his distance. He couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t had this illness for an hour and he was already hating it.

Cornifer patted his back, which was covered in a warm blanket while the human sat down in a small stool. He turned to look up at his wife. “I know it seems bad, Izzy, but bugs have managed to overcome it. He appears lucid enough, despite being woken up in the middle of the night.”

Iselda spun around and glared down at the cartographer. “They were a lucky few. Who says he’ll turn out the same?”

Chance took another nervous sip of his cup. “I don’t like where this conversation is going,” he commented.

Iselda, instead of answering, turned around and resumed her pacing, seething to herself. “And you’ve only just arrived…” Her voice was shaky, as though she could burst into tears at any moment. Strong, intimidating, yet wholehearted Iselda, breaking down and sobbing over the color of his spit.

“Am I gonna-”

Chance’s question was interrupted as a knock came from the door. Iselda quit her endless pacing and practically tore the door open to see Elderbug standing outside.

“Elder, you’re here! Can you help him?”

“Help?” Elderbug questioned as he wedged himself through the doorframe. “I only knocked because I heard so much noise at such an ungodly hour. Is there a problem?”

“It’s our guest, he…” Iselda, at a loss for words, hopelessly gestured towards him. Elderbug took one glance at his sorry state and immediately rushed over to him as fast as his small legs could allow.

“Oh, no, no, no…” he mumbled. Chance swallowed nervously. “The symptoms are clear. You’ve caught it, too, I’m afraid.”

_ Symptoms? Caught it? Too? _ The human had so many questions, but only one could fall off of his tongue. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“You’ve caught a plague known only as the Infection,” Elderbug explained. “It’s a horrifying disease that steals the minds and sanities of those whom it befalls.”

“Elder, don’t _ frighten _ him!” Iselda scolded.

She was ignored, however. Chance blinked. His _ mind _ was in danger? “How… dangerous is it?”

“I…” Elderbug averted his gaze, refusing to give an answer. Chance leaned forward, his heart pounding in his ears.

“How long do I have?” It was a horrible question, but if it was this much of a concern…

The Elder sighed. Iselda was giving him a death glare, but he ignored it to speak to the human. “You’re already showing strong symptoms of the infection, yet your mind seems untouched for the time being. You may last longer than most victims yet, but I’d still give you… maybe two months, if you’re lucky.”

The human’s gaze was empty as his stare bore holes into Elderbug’s head. His face slowly lowered until he was staring into his cup, only a thin layer of water left at the very bottom of the cup.

“This Infection was the reason the kingdom below us perished, after all.”

The last thing Chance remembered before passing out was staring into his reflection in the glass, and seeing two bright, orange irises in his eyes staring back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Gimmie Shelter by The Rolling Stones.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones  
Baby I'm Yours by Breakbot  
Milky Chance (artist)
> 
> This story is a collab between me and a friend named Piston.
> 
> If it wasn't already glaringly obvious, we're laying down the music theme pretty hard in this story, for a number of reasons that should become apparent as the story goes on. We already have most of the major points of this story planned out ahead of time, it's just a matter of actually getting everything written. Of course, not every detail has been set in stone, for example, the name Chance is a relatively recent development. We mostly added it 'cause we were sick of using "the human" over and over again.
> 
> Also, speaking of our story plan, it's, well, long. Very long. To prevent this story from taking the next decade to complete, we're planning on having some longer major chapters, but shorter slice-of-life ones in between, so chapter length from this point on may vary greatly.
> 
> Thank you all for your support and suggestions in the previous chapter, and we can't wait to come back with the next one!


	3. In My Time of Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So I can die easy."

“I suppose I oughta clean this mess up.”

Chance, having calmed down just a little bit from his horrifying revelation and a good night's sleep, stood in the main room of his house, hands firmly on his hips, sighing as he surveyed the damage from the other night. Globs of spit on the ground remained from where he tried to get the taste out of his mouth, overturned furniture from his stumbling about at midnight, and of course, the massive pile of vomit that lay resting upon his bed.

The retch had air-dried a little, but the ominous, orange glow still remained. It stained deep into the blanket and sheets, tainting them a deep orange. It gave off a vile stench of stomach fluids and… something sweet-ish?

“No,” Iselda said, having accompanied Chance back to his house. He turned around and looked at her, confused.

“Burn them.”

Chance took a step back in surprise, unable to hide his incredulous look. Burning anything over a bit of bile seemed a tad extreme. Though, after a moment’s consideration, it made sense; if this disease, this…  _ infection _ , really was as dangerous as it had been described, it was better to completely eradicate it before he wound up infecting the rest of Dirtmouth.

The thought made him shudder; Iselda, who welcomed him with warm, open arms, keeled over in agony from the ravages of the orange sickness within her. Whole-hearted Cornifer, his eyes tinted orange with madness. Gentle and considerate Elderbug, buried on the outskirts of the town, having succumbed to the disease.

He shook his head, ridding the horrid thoughts.

“A-Alright,” he breathed. Though, there was the matter of how to move the sheets somewhere safe to burn, since he wasn’t about to start any open flames in his new house.

Well… he was already infected, right? It wasn’t like he couldn’t catch the same sickness twice, right? Then again, getting his own retch on him would be disgusting, as well as make himself a much more potent vector for this disease. Besides, there was no chance he would burn his only clothing if any got on him. Still, there really wasn’t much choice in the matter.

Carefully, he stripped the bed of its sheets, then bundled the sheets into a small, compact ball with the bile firmly entrapped in the center. Luckily for him, it didn’t spill out of the makeshift cocoon, but would it seep through? Either way, they could worry about the minuscule amount he had spit on the floor later. His nose remained crinkled at the foul smell throughout the whole process.

The bundle firmly in hand, he made his way to the door, Iselda behind him. The two stepped out into the street, the latter leading them.

No words were spoken between them as he carried the filthy pile of cloth through the streets and past the outskirts of the small town. Here, the frigid wind was at full strength, the light of Dirtmouth far behind them. Despite the featureless, wind-blasted plains, they found a larger rock to act as a windbreak and with the application of a bit of tinder, flint, and steel, Iselda managed to get a fire going.

With the sheets flared up in flame, Iselda turned to leave, but froze when she realized Chance wasn’t following. He stood close by the fire, hands firmly planted in his coat pockets, the weak fire reflected in his orange eyes as he stared into the light, silent.

“Chance?”

“...I need to go down.”

Iselda raised an eyebrow at his vague words before Chance turned his head to give her a backward glance.

“I…” he faltered for a moment, “I need to go down the well. Into the old kingdom.”

Iselda took a step forward and, against her better judgement, rested her hand on the human’s shoulder. “...Chance, no, you’re not thinking straight. Come, you need rest-”

“But I  _ am _ thinking straight for once,” he firmly replied. “If this…  _ disease _ is what made that old kingdom collapse - Hallownest or whatever - then maybe there’s something left down there I can find out.”

“Chance, There’s  _ nothing _ ,” Iselda tried to reason with him. “If anyone down there ever knew how to cure it, Hallownest would still draw breath.”

“Maybe,” Chance acknowledged. “But what’s the point in staying up here? I’m  _ dying _ , Iselda. Slowly, but I am. I can’t just sit up here and wait for death. I  _ have _ to at least look.  _ I have to try! _ ”

“Chance, listen to me!” Iselda had raised her voice, grasping the human by both of his shoulders. A despondent look shrouded his face, and dark shadows from the fire shrouded his face. “You do not know how many times I’ve witnessed bugs go down that well, seeking wealth or power or knowledge, and never returned. If you descend into Hallownest, you’ll almost certainly die!”

“ _ Almost, _ ” Chance replied. “But if I stay up here, I’ll die for sure. I don’t have a choice.”

Iselda opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her grip on his coat slowly loosened, until her arms fell back at her sides. A quiet sigh escaped her.

“You don’t, do you?”

Chance said nothing, gazing into the flames, his thoughts and emotions concealed by an empty gaze into the fire.

* * *

There wasn’t much he had to pack.

Long after the old, infection-smeared bedsheets had been reduced to smoldering embers, Chance was preparing to descend into the unknown depths. He hadn’t bothered to get a replacement for his blanket. After all, he wasn’t sure he’d ever come back up here again.

His phone was firmly in his pocket, and… that was just about it, actually. He didn’t have many possessions he could call his own. The meager supply he did possess wouldn’t cut it. There were still many more articles needed for this journey- something to defend himself with, as well as medical supplies.

Food and water were also kind of important too, he supposed.

No suitable weapon of any kind was to be found in his own home, nor anything that resembled first-aid. The best that he could find were a few moldy strips of cloth and a dull knife from the kitchen. Outside of his home, though… there was that blue goop from the cliffside; maybe he could grab a few bottles of that if he could make the hike there and back. It wasn’t too far, and its miraculous ability to completely sew up his injuries, such as when the Knight put it on his hands, would be invaluable. Much better than anything in the house, that was certain.

The Knight. He hadn’t thought about the small bug in a while, now that he thought about it. The thing went down the well, too, didn’t it? He toyed with the thought of running into it. The bug was much stronger than he was, for sure; maybe he could even ask for the Knight’s help once more? Even if he could wrangle the bug into helping him, Chance still needed to be able to defend himself. Because truly, what were the odds he would conveniently wander into his savior in the catacombs beneath the well? Nill, most likely, as such there was no point to count on it. Which brought him back to his current activity.

At the moment, he was rummaging through his home’s closet, looking for some kind of bag. As it stood, the closet itself was filled with all sorts of knick-knacks. Multiple pairs of the same rough shoes, a primitive umbrella, a chipped, ceramic bowl… pushing aside the last item, his prize was revealed. It was an older, grey cloth bag with a sturdy strap and brass, latched top tucked against the back wall.  _ Yoink _ . 

Taking it back to the rough counter of the little kitchen, he unclasped the two latches and peered inside. Several smaller odds and ends lined the bottom, as well as a thin layer of dust. Chance turned the bag upside down, letting it all spill out onto the counter. The various objects bounced dully onto the counter, dust engulfing them. Except for one.

It was some sort of odd medallion, an old tarnished thing. Actually, more of a smaller badge, now that he had a closer look. Despite the dust’s best efforts, the old thing refused to let it stick on. The badge fit comfortably in his hand, and from what he felt, had a sturdy pin on the back. The design itself was almost like a butterfly, with a dull crimson center, three dark blues prongs on each side. The design was completed by a small grey spike on the bottom, matched by four longer, more elegant grey spikes on the top.

He gently rubbed the center surface with his thumb. Almost unconsciously, he pinned it onto the bag. It just felt right.

Inside the bag went several glass bottles he had scavenged from the cupboards. They’d need to be washed before he could put anything in them, but even then, having dirty bottles was better than no bottles.

With the bag a tad heavier than before, he slung it over his shoulder and went out onto the streets of Dirtmouth. The last item on his preparation checklist was to wash the bottles, then head back to the cliffs for the Healing Juice™. Well, the last preparation aside from getting a proper weapon, of course. 

A few minutes of silently shambling through the streets brought him back to the town center. The same dark, dreary sky kept him company, though he wished the sun would come out just once. Did the sun actually come out, or was the town subject to perpetual night? If the latter were the case, wouldn’t that mean- 

His train of thought cut off upon spotting the Elder, who was lightly dozing under his signature lamp by the bench. A loud greeting was enough to rouse him from his little catnap.

“Oh dear me, who is it now?” Elderbug groaned, hands rubbing his eye… sockets. There really was no getting around that.

“It’s Chance,” he said, coming to stand under the lamp as well. The Elder jumped slightly at his sudden appearance.

“Oh,” Elderbug went silent for a moment, “...If I may ask, what is it you need?”

“Well, I was wondering if you knew where I could find some drinking water.”

“Right, right. We have a pump near the edge of town you can use. Just go down that street.” A chitinous hand was pointed down a dark path, somewhere beyond his house. Chance waved and began to make his way over there, giving the Elder a wave as he walked by.

“Thanks.”

* * *

Chance was a bit doubtful of the sanitation of Dirtmouth’s solitary water pump, but seeing as he’d already drunk a glass of its water last night with no ill effects, there really wasn’t a point in worrying. Several quick pumps from the surprisingly well-maintained handle brought forth a spew of water from the sprout. Each bottle was filled full of H2O, swirled around, then emptied and dried. The flow from the pump slowly relaxed into a soft dripping as Chance dried off the last of his bottles with his jacket.

The approaching footfall of someone coming up behind him brought Chance out of his mindless task. He put the newly cleaned bottle back into his bag before rising back to his feet. Turning to face his visitor, he beheld the form of Iselda. As usual, she cut right to the point.

“If you are going down into the ruins, you’ll need a nail,” she said. In her hand was a shortsword, though like the Knight’s own sword, it had no crossguard. Once again, the referral to swords as nails struck him as odd. Iselda held out the blade to him. 

He hesitantly took the hilt, feeling its weight. A bit heavy, but quite balanced. “I appreciate it, but why? You said it was long dead.” Not to mention he didn’t have any sort of combat training.

Iselda froze slightly at his response, then sighed, “What roams down under the well does not follow the kingdom’s example. The dead are the lucky ones, so to speak.”

_ She can’t be serious… _ “Are you saying...”

“They are what is left of those who fail to perish from the Infection.” Her tone was quite somber.  _ What the hell was that supposed to mean? Zombies? _

A brief pause fell between them. Chance’s lips pursed, mentally preparing himself for the horrors beneath.“Thank you Iselda. I mean it.” He would have hugged her, but that would have been way,  _ way _ too awkward. Besides, even without proper training, a weapon was better than nothing, right? 

She nodded, “Thank me by not dying.” With that, she turned tail (or rather, thorax?) and went back down the streets of Dirtmouth. 

His eyes moved back to the sword in his hand. It was an older thing, obvious from the dullness of the blade and the few small cracks present. Still, it seemed sharp, along with a newish looking grip on the handle, as well as a fine layer of oil on the blade. Didn’t Cornifer say something about Iselda being a warrior in the past? She must have refurbished one of her old weapons for him.

He’d have to get a belt loop or something to hold the thing on, though. Or maybe something else. That could probably wait though. With his new clean bottles, he had a bunch of miracle goop to claim.

* * *

As it turned out, trying to use a sword without any training was a very bad idea. The results spoke for themselves. As it stood, he was sitting up against one of the rocky walls forming the cavern, nursing a large gash in his leg. Not a gash from one of those large beetles or mosquitos; rather, it was from the bite of his own sword. 

If he had to guess why, it was probably his “technique” of swinging it around like a baseball bat. While the resulting grand slam of force into one of those damn flies felt cathartic as all hell, the momentum from the blade cleaving through the bug and striking his leg was much less so. It actually quite hurt, believe it or not. Luckily, the cut was quite shallow, but still, lesson learned.

He couldn’t just, like, cram this thing into his bag for the time being, could he? With his inexperience, trying to use a nail was  _ literally _ a double-edged sword. Except with that sharp blade, it’d probably just ruin his bag and everything in it. Damn it.

It was hard to judge where he was. He’d have to remember to snag a map from Cornifer or Iselda before he went under the well. Even his memory of traveling with the Knight wasn’t too helpful, since now he was going in the opposite direction. Pitfalls became steep cliffs and vice versa.

He tossed his nail up a ledge to give himself a free hand to pull himself up with, and saw his prize sitting before him. The vibrant blue cocoon suspended in the air, pulsing, ethereal butterflies flittering around it, glowing flowers peacefully illuminating the area-

Wait. Didn’t the Knight tear this thing open?

The human paused. Why didn’t he consider this  _ before _ coming all this way? They’d just about used up all the goo they found. And yet, here it was, right before his eyes. Did they really grow back that fast? Another mystery to get thrown in the pile, gather dust, be forgotten about, and forever go unanswered.

Let’s see. The Knight poked it with his nail, and-

The goo splashed everywhere as he punctured the cocoon, coating the cavern in blue. The human quickly unsealed a few bottles and scooped as much as he could into them, leaving only barely enough room left to force the cork back in.

As he handled the alien substance, he noticed his hands healing further, except this time instead of deep gashes, the only wounds he suffered were bruises and some scratches. He made sure to slather a fair bit on his wounded leg as well, letting it heal before stashing the bottles in his bag and going on his way.

As he walked, he double-checked his bag to make sure he had everything. He was carrying five bottles at the moment, all filled to the brim. Hopefully, he could at least get back to Dirtmouth before he needed to use one.

* * *

Chance strolled into Dirtmouth casually, humming a tune to himself while holding a bottle of lifeblood in his hands. He thought about asking Elderbug what exactly this stuff was before relying on it too much, just in case it turned out to be bad for him in some way. He didn’t need to ask, however, as Elderbug’s eyes widened a little upon seeing the blue bottle in his hand.

“Chance… Why do you have Lifeblood?” Elderbug asked, disbelief laced in his voice. He stared with intense discontinuity at the bottle of goo in Chance’s hand.

“Lifeblood? You mean this?” He held up the bottle for closer inspection.  _ Is that what this stuff is called? _

The Elderbug sighed, “Did you break one of the cocoons?” he asked wearily.

Chance looked away, then down at the ground, unable to look Elderbug in the eyes. “Um… yeah. ...Is… is that bad?” he asked.  _ He broke one of their social customs, didn’t he? _

“In a way,” the Elder replied, “breaking them is rather taboo.”

“Oh…”  _ Dammit! _ “Um… Sorry.”

Elderbug’s expression softened, “No, it is I who should apologize. I keep forgetting you are not native to Hallownest.” he paused for a moment, “If I may ask, however. Why did you retrieve lifeblood in the first place?”

“It’s a bit of a long story.”

“We have all the time in the world.” 

Well, quite frankly, neither of them had even remotely that much time, but he clearly wasn’t getting out of this, anyway.“Uhm… When I first arrived here, I may or may not have fallen down a cliff.”

“Surely you jest!” Elderbug protested, “There’s not a scratch on you!”

“And that’s where the ‘Lifeblood’ comes in,” Chance said, “We ran into the cocoon, the Knight split it open, and I applied it to my wounds.”

“Are you saying...” Elderbug trailed off, seemingly out of words.

“It healed me completely,” he confirmed.

A moment of silence from the Elderbug. “Chance, Lifeblood strengthens our shells. Not…” he gestured to the human, “... whatever it did to you.”

“Oh…” he thought for a moment, “I’m certain of what I saw, though.” He held up his left hand so the Elder could see its woundless surface, “The lifeblood restored my hand and my leg.”

“If what you say is true…” Elderbug mused, “I will have to explore this further.”

“Well, you um… have fun with that, I guess,” Chance turned to leave, but was stopped by the Elder placing a chitinous hand on his shoulder.

“A word of wisdom,” The Elder said, “Don’t show those jars to anyone else.”

“Sure, but why?” It was a taboo, sure, but why?

“Lifeblood is a sacred substance connected to dreams, Chance. I myself don’t care much for the old superstition, but the others may be more averse to its use.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again,” Finally, he removed himself from his conversation with the Elderbug and continued on his way to Iselda’s store. Before entering, though, he stuffed the jar back into his bag. Iselda may not hold the same beliefs about lifeblood, but taking a chance and accidentally alienating one of the few people who had been kind to him would be both a detrimental and dick move to make. Mostly the former, though.

He gave the bag a worried glance. Was it his imagination, or was there a faint, blue glow coming from it? Was the glow of the lifeblood really that strong? There wasn’t any reason to take chances, so he laid the bag near the door before entering. Despite that, he still held onto the nail.

As per the norm, Iselda sat hunched over the counter, a similar bored expression gracing her features. She did perk up a little when she saw Chance, however. A bit of worry was also written across her face.

“You’re back earlier than I expected. You’re not hurt, are you?” The last part was delivered with a bit more force.

“Don’t worry Iselda, I’m fine!” He held up both of his hands, “Just went back to the cliffs… lost something there.”

Iselda smiled, “Oh! Did your nail help you any?” 

“Um..., Yeah, yeah, it did. I managed to kill one of those large flies there.” She didn’t need to know about the leg wound.

“A Vengefly, you mean?” Iselda said, “They’re common enough, mostly harmless.”

“Definitely,” he blustered.

_ A high pitched screech from the roof of the cavern caught his attention. Chance turned around just in time for something to slam into his face, carving several more scratches into it. He shrieked in surprise, stumbling backward and tripping on some loose rubble, sending him falling back into the dirt. He tried to bat the thing off of his eyes, only causing his creature to latch onto his left forearm instead. It dug its two mandibles deep into it, drawing crimson blood….  _

Yeah… mostly harmless.

“Something tells me it gave you more trouble than what you’re telling me,” she said, “There’s no shame in it. We all start somewhere.”

Chance sighed, “Yeah, it went a bit… worse than I would have liked. May or may not have cut myself when killing it.”

Iselda quietly cursed to herself, a hand on her forehead, “You don’t even know how to use a nail?” she questioned, before quietly adding, “And I just gave it to you…”

“Iselda, are you okay-” 

He was quickly cut off by Iselda, “You need to know the basics.” She got up from behind the counter and walked out the door. “Follow me.”

He quietly walked out behind Iselda’s fleeting form. They went out into the town square, where a slightly nervous-looking Elderbug stood under a lampost, watching them wordlessly. Iselda spun around suddenly, and Chance stopped where he was in surprise, a good distance between the two.

Iselda drew out a carved, long stick. “This isn’t a real nail, since you took mine, but it should be sufficient for our purposes.” She moved her feet, squatting down slightly into a fighting stance. Her experience was apparent in her stance; she was completely focused on him, her nerves fine-tuned to react at the slightest provocation, like a cat’s. Chance gulped, and tried to match her stance as best as he could.

Iselda nodded, “Good, now see how your body is positioned. What do you notice?” 

“I’m compact?” he asked. The stance he held certainly did lower his center of gravity.

“And ready to react,” Iselda replied. She darted forward with incredible speed, swinging her stick towards the human’s side. Chance, in a knee-jerk reaction, flung his nail up to block, wincing as the stick came close to his face. A stick could never win against a nail, but even with such an advantage, Chance’s nail still flew out of his grip as he dropped it in surprise, landing into the dirt nearby. He flailed backwards, falling on his back in the dirt.

“Pick your nail back up,” Iselda said, maintaining her position. Chance warily rolled over and got back to his feet, grasping the nail which had fallen to his side. Despite Iselda’s daunting size, she definitely was fast. A shame he had to learn it the hard way, but he couldn’t help but feel impressed, even as she came sprinting at him for another strike. 

* * *

Unbeknownst to the two, the sounds of metallic rustling and clanks could be heard reverberating throughout one of the older buildings lining the town center. Said clunking was quickly replaced by silence, which was interrupted by a quiet  _ Click! _ as the intricate, wooden door of the structure flung itself open.

Light poured out of the open doorway, framing the enigmatic Knight as he stepped free from the station and into the town square. The Knight’s hollow eyes swept across the scene, taking in the serenity. Save for Elderbug, nobody seemed to be here. It took a cautious step forward towards the bench, only for it to tilt its head quizzically. 

The air spoke of something wrong, something out of place. Not the air itself, but rather, the sound of the place. The soft wind carried the sounds of rustling grass, the occasional creak of buildings, and…  _ the clashing of nails? _ The idea of there being combat in the quiet village of Dirtmouth was alarming, at the very least. The Knight tilted its head, looking for the source of the noise.

Its gaze zeroed in on that human and a very tall and lithe bug sparring against each other, the human holding a nail and the other wielding a long stick. The Knight almost turned back to the bench, but for just a moment, its eyes caught the human’s. Instead of the deep green they had been when they first met, his irises were now a vibrant orange. And he was fighting against that bug…

The Knight swiftly brought its nail to its hand, the weight bringing it a measure of comfort. Just another one of the Infection’s slaves to free. Nail firmly grasped, the Knight ran to the fighting pair. 

* * *

“ _ Ha… ha… _ ” Chance huffed bent over, one hand clutching his chest. Soreness once again crept into his limbs, only accentuated by how sticky and sweaty the session had made him. His heart beat uncomfortably fast within his ribs, keeping him alert still.

Overall, he felt like shit. A good kind, however. Not the falling down a cliff and  _ oh god there’s so much blood _ shit feeling. There was a very real difference, he now understood. A kind of understanding that only came from experiencing both of them firsthand.

Iselda, on the other hand, hadn’t even broken a sweat from what must’ve been a mere warm-up for the experienced warrior(Did bugs sweat? ...It wasn’t his concern right now). She straightened up, lowering her stick and peering at something beyond their impromptu training area, “I say, isn’t that your companion?”

Chance turned to see where Iselda was looking. Lo and behold, it certainly was the Knight, its cracked nail in hand. And approaching them.

“Yeah… yeah, i-it is,” Chance replied, still trying to catch his breath with eyes on the Knight. It hadn’t stopped its advance; on the contrary, it had sped up to a light jog, blade still in its hand. That… was concerning. Said concern exploded into action when the Knight lunged at him, nail poised to skewer him. With a shout, Chance toppled backwards, dropping his own nail in the process. The wind was knocked out of him when his back slammed into the ground. The Knight used the human’s shock to its advantage, swinging its nail down in a glittering arc to render Chance asunder.

Unfortunately for the Knight, Chance had rolled to the side, narrowly missing its swing. He quickly got back onto his feet. By then, however, the Knight had regathered its wits and took another strike at him. It had better luck this time, hitting a glancing blow to Chance’s bicep. He gasped in pain, clutching the wound. He stood still, like a deer caught in headlights.

The Knight wound up to deliver another piercing blow, but instead of it striking, the flat end of another nail struck it. The sheer force of it lifted the Knight off the ground and sent it flying through the air, where it crashed into one of the buildings. Humorously enough, the Knight’s horns had embedded themselves into the pliable wood of the structure, keeping it pinned there. It flailed about trying to extricate itself from the wood, but found no luck.

Chance, still nursing his bicep, saw that Iselda was now holding his nail. She exuded a look of shock and anger.

“T-thanks…” he mumbled sheepishly. His words fell on deaf ears, as Iselda was already storming her way to the struggling form of the Knight. Chance followed behind, warily keeping his distance. Why the hell did the Knight attack him?

“Don’t you know how  _ rude _ it is to interrupt a sparring session?!” Iselda scolded as she angrily stabbed her nail into the dirt. The Knight froze at her shouts, pausing its struggles. Iselda crossed her arms and huffed, “Just because he’s infected doesn’t mean he’s a free training dummy to throw around-”

Chance stopped listening to Iselda’s rant and grabbed onto the Knight’s shoulders, tugging it out of the wall until it came free with a  _ thunk _ . The Knight immediately made a move for its nail, but Chance grabbed it by the forearms and turned it to face him. His orange eyes gazed into its dark, empty ones.

“It’s… because I’m infected, isn’t it?”

Iselda was silent. The Knight made no movements or expression, only pausing for a brief moment before nodding. Chance sighed. “There’s other infected down there, right? Violent and mindless, like… like zombies.” The Knight was unfamiliar with what a zombie was, but nodded anyway. Chance shuffled, trying to soften his gaze into the Knight’s eyes as best as he could.

“Listen, I’m… I’m not like them, okay? I may be infected, but I still have my mind. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The Knight stared into Chance’s eyes, but finally slouched in defeat. Carefully, he let the Knight go, who remained limp on the ground. Whether it was from relief or remorse he didn’t know. Whatever the reason, it was an almost depressing sight, seeing the strong and stoic Knight slouched and motionless. Chance turned to pick up the Knight’s fallen nail.

“Here,” he said, holding the blade out to the Knight. It looked up to him, then to the nail, then back to him. He forced a small smile to his face, “Come on, it’s okay.”

The Knight finally took the nail, gently grasping the hilt. The nail was quickly replaced to its back, its rightful place. Surprisingly, it held out one of its dark hands, which Chance grasped. The Knight gave it a small squeeze, before letting go. It reached its arm up and playfully ruffled his hair. Chance gave a soft, warm laugh.

“T-Thank you.” He hesitated for a moment, before gently embracing the small Knight. They’d be alright in the end.

Definitely.

* * *

With one final grunt, Chance let go of the chain and landed lightly on his feet. The Knight had already descended down the well and was waiting for him. Lucky bastard could just jump down the well with no worries; no stumbled, no broken limbs, not even arthritis. Comparatively, his descent down the well had been anything but pleasant. Grasping a mere metal chain and slowly sliding down it for god knows how long was actually was much harder than he thought.

He grimaced from the stabbing pain in his arms. Wasn’t there a saying or something like “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”? Clearly the person who thought of that one was a filthy liar who had never had to climb down a well. Still, if swinging a nail and around all day and climbing around were going to be the norm, the pain would lessen over time, right? Alternatively, his arms would snap like a few small twigs handled by a rough child, but hope is a valuable commodity.

“So, where now?” Chance asked, looking down at the Knight. With nail in hand, it pointed the blade’s edge at an ancient archway near the edge of the cavern. Yeah… the cavern… Despite being underground, dim light encompassed the cave from what looked like street lamps lining the path. This place kept getting stranger and stranger every day. Or every few hours.

Looking around, it was much less of a cavern and more of a… road, in a sense. The stone under them was cobbled, though nature had reclaimed them with shoots and lichen sprouting out around the rocky edges. Decayed statues, ancient carts, and broken fence posts lined the edge of the highway, and in some spots had collapsed haphazardly on the road. 

Obviously a perfect place to put a  _ damn _ well of all places. Gee, what genius thought this was a good idea? Oh yes, a convenient shaft for travels to travel down into the middle of a presumably busy road. This whole project reeked of budget padding.

Their trek through the underground road wasn’t unlike their hike through the cliffs before, with the Knight mostly going ahead to defeat the hostile creatures lurking in the dark. Chance warily brandished his nail as he followed closely behind the night to some unknown destination. He stepped over corpses of bugs that the Knight did the courtesy of slicing open for him, continuing down the cavern.

Now that he had a closer look at their deceased bodies, it was quite obvious what had become of them. Not by the Knight’s nail; rather, by the infection. Granted, the nail strikes hadn’t done the poor bugs any favors, but even those showcased the infected fluid leaking from their carcasses. Even now, that pulsating liquid was slowly creeping up along the bodies and enveloping it in its sick glow. Bipedal, beetle, it didn’t matter. It just consumed.

He gently brought two fingers to his temple. Their fate, while now ended, was destined for him as well. The two fingers started rubbing. Would his own body suffer the same end? His bloated corpse on the ground, put down by one stronger, infection leaking from every cut and orifice? The phlegm coating him, decomposing him? It was most certainly not a comforting thought.

Forcing his eyes away from the corpses, he continued behind the Knight, eyes scanning for danger. The path they were on was slowly, but surely returning back to nature. The cobble slowly broke down the further they went, along with the impediments of the doomed society. 

Speaking of said society, Chance couldn’t help but gaze up in awe at the pillars lining the cavern. To think he was actually exploring the ruins of a long-lost alien civilization took his breath away.

But that was before they stumbled upon the temple.

Blinding white light flooded through the windows and door, like a face screaming their soul out, with massive horns protruded from the round structure. Having adjusted to the darkness of the cave, Chance had to shield his eyes from the bright light as he gasped. The Knight spent no time taking in the sights, however, and ran inside of the building, with Chance needing to sprint to catch up.

The inside was impossibly larger than the outside seemingly showed. The interior itself was brightly lit from a swarm of fluttering fireflies near the roof of the structure. Not that there was much to illuminate; a cursory glance revealed practically nothing in the room, save for a pedestal near the back wall. What rested behind, however… large was not a just descriptor. The back wall itself was less of a wall and more of a cracked, yet shiny obsidian surface, shaped like a shell. The surface wasn’t smooth, though the vastness of it gave it the illusion of uniformity. Rather, it had a slightly rounded shape.

“What… what is that?” Despite the vast space afforded, the presence of that black shell beat down upon him, crushing him. Focusing his gaze upon the pedestal, he realized that the whole thing wasn’t quite as uniform as he thought. An odd, shell-like section jutted out from the other impervious structure. Strangely enough, it bore the sigil of three… symbols, of sorts. Three pointed ovals, all showcasing a different myriad of marks. Not just symbols, but perhaps... masks? The marks could very well be eyeholes, but he wasn’t sure what kind of creature had six eyes.

The Knight had moved up to the pedestal, beckoning him with its free hand. Chance glanced between the Knight and the strange wall, before nervously walking up towards it. Unsure of what to expect, he softly pressed an open palm against its surface, and-

_ Agony. _

_ A horrific screech. _

_ A hollow soul crying in anguish. _

_ A  _ ** _tumor_ ** _ , a  _ ** _cancer_ ** _ . _

_ A brilliant, beautiful light. _

Chance jerked his hand away from the wall, stumbling backwards, tripping over his feet and falling on his back. His breaths were uneven, and his brow had a thin layer of sweat. Shaking, he groaned, and lifted his head up to see a figure standing before him. Who was definitely too tall to be the Knight.

“Er… is everything alright? You took a rough tumble there, Chance.”

“Q-Quirrel,” Chance breathed. The wandering bug held out a hand, which Chance gladly took, and pulled him up from the ground with a heave. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his other hand clutching his head. “Ugh… w-what happened?”

Quirrel shrugged, “I am not certain. I found you unconscious, and your friend trying to wake you.” Said Knight was staring up at him, its face as expressionless as ever, yet there was an air about it that felt like… worry? That was new. What also was new was where he had been lying. Not on the pedestal; rather against one of the far walls. 

“Whatever the reason, it is good to see that you are…” he made eye contact with Chance, “Oh… oh no,” he finished softly. Chance was about to ask what was wrong, but then remembered.  _ Orange eyes, right.  _ Quirrel reaching for his nail quickly brought him back to the present.

“Quirrel, Quirrel! It’s okay, it’s okay,” he hurriedly said, “I’m still sane.”

Quirrel still appeared hesitant, “But for how much longer Chance? You may be fine now, but will that be true in a few hours, or a day?” Thankfully though, Quirrel had stopped reaching for his longer nail, though the Knight placing its own hand on Quirrel’s helped.

It pointed a finger from its other hand at Chance’s infected eyes, then moved to point at the effigy above the pedestal. Both Chance and Quirrel followed the finger, confusion evident on their faces. The Knight finished its game of charades with a cutting motion of its hand.

“... I… don’t follow.”

The Knight darted up towards the strange wall and smacked it with its nail. To Chance’s amazement, the attack was shielded by some otherworldly pale glow, ghostly fractals protecting it like a force field. The Knight hit it fruitlessly a few more times to make it clear that he wasn’t just seeing things.

“Amazing!” Quirrel breathed. “What kind of magic is this? A protection charm? I-I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like it before!” Something in his voice shook in that last statement, but Chance ignored it as the Knight rushed back to him, and pointed at his orange eyes again. He blinked, pointing at himself dumbly. The Knight nodded wordlessly.

“...Does, uh… does this place have something to do with the Infection?” The Knight nodded again.

Quirrel leaned in, listening to their conversation with awe. “Does it really? I’d have never suspected! A massive, dark egg resting in such a desolate place, and it’s linked to the Infection somehow?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, before spinning around to face Chance. “Maybe a cure could be found inside! Or would that be too much to hope for?”

Chance looked down at the Knight, his eyes wide and excited. “Is the cure inside of that egg?”

The Knight shook its head, and he felt his heart fall.

“Oh. I… Oh.” He was silent for a long moment, before looking back at the Knight. “Then what does it have to do with the Infection? Can it help us at all?”

The Knight, strangely enough, only looked down at the ground, silent as ever. Quirrel spoke up. “Er… I suppose the small one’s muteness limits its ability to answer more complicated questions.” Chance facepalmed internally; that should’ve been a no-brainer. He got too caught up in the excitement of an easy way out of his disease that he forgot about that.

So he was limited to yes-or-no questions, then.

“Um… can it help us at all?” A pause, and a slow nod.

“Is there a way to open it?” A nod.

“Do you know how?” A shake.

“...Could we figure out how?” A nod. Chance had to bite his tongue from asking how.

“Does this egg, perhaps, contain sensitive information regarding the Infection?” Quirrel offered. The Knight stared up at him and tilted its head, confused at the question. Quirrel’s face slowly fell. “...It was just a thought.”

Chance looked back at the Knight. “Do you plan to open this thing somehow?” A nod. He took a deep breath, preparing himself. The million-dollar question.

“...Can I come with you?”

Quirrel staggered at the apparently ludicrous suggestion. “C-Chance! You’re in no state to go on wild adventures like this! You may be fine now, but-”

“I know I don’t have much time,” Chance interrupted. “But I can’t just lay around and wait to die. I  ** _have_ ** to try to cure myself.”

“B-But-!”

“Quirrel, please. I don’t have a choice. It’s my  _ life _ .”

Quirrel raised a hand in protest, only for it to slowly lower back to his side. “...I… do suppose that’s true…” He kept his eyes on the floor, feeling conflicted. In his silence, Chance walked closer to the wall, making sure not to touch it again. He studied the three symbols on its surface; they appeared to be faces with varying eyes, but other than that, there was no description or helpful information to be found.

“What are these?”

Quirrel was shaken from his thoughts, and came over to join Chance. “I’m… not sure. They appear hauntingly familiar to me, yet I cannot place my finger upon it…”

A pause. “Even though you’re wearing one on your head right now?”

Quirrel tripped over his words in confusion, before taking off the large object on his head and holding it up. Sure enough, it matched one of the symbols on the door exactly. “Wh-Why-! B-By the Wyrm, you’re right! B-But how…? I don’t- I never-!”

_ …’Wyrm’? _ Chance brushed it off as a cultural thing. “How’d you get that thing, anyway?”

“I- Why, I…” Quirrel wiped his brow shakily. “I never thought my travels would lead me to a place that I myself and linked to so intimately… Have I been to Hallownest before? No, I’m certain that I have not…”

The normally calm and collected Quirrel acting so nervous was an uncomfortable sight to bear witness to. “H-Hey,” Chance said soothingly. “Calm down, let’s think this through. Again, where’d you get that… what even is that thing, a mask?”

“I-It is, indeed, a mask,” Quirrel said. “Please forgive me for my… lack of composure, I… it’s just… I can’t actually recall where I acquired this mask.”

“...What? Really?”

“Really!” Quirrel said. “I’ve had it for as long as I can remember! Which, fair enough, is not all too long, but still…”

Damn. So that line of questioning was a dead end. Still, it was clear enough that Quirrel was somehow linked to the method behind opening this egg. Maybe if they-

“Wait.”

As long as he could remember… but also not all too long?

“Quirrel.” The bug turned to him, surprised by Chance’s unusually shaky tone. “This may be a personal question, but… do you happen to have amnesia of some kind?”

Quirrel seemed taken aback by the question. “Ah- Now that you mention it, I… I really can’t remember anything before arriving in Hallownest. Only… base instinct, if that makes any sense.”

So maybe it wasn’t a dead end after all. Quirrel  _ did _ have something to do with that mask, but lost his memory upon reaching Hallownest. So one objective of figuring out how to open this wall would be to find out what Quirrel’s lost past is, and his connection to the masks.

But on top of that, a very concerning fact arose.

“...Funny,” Chance whispered, his face stone-set in a worried frown.

Quirrel blinked. “F-Funny? In what way is my memory loss ‘funny’ to you?”

Chance took a shaky breath, his infection-filled eyes laced with fear. “It’s funny, because I can’t remember anything before Hallownest, either. Just like you, I lost my memory when I got here.”

* * *

The Knight looked between the two, patiently waiting. Quirrel finally broke the silence, “That… is troubling, ” he quietly said. 

Chance brought a dirty hand to his forehead, “Tell me about it.” He shook his head, “Everything has gone to hell.” 

Quirrel shook his head, “I did not mean it like that, Chance. If the two of us are afflicted with amnesia, are we the only ones? It is either that, or a stretched coincidence.” He had a fair point. It was already strange enough that the two of them had amnesia, and Chance assumed they had some strange outside force to thank for that. But if it happened to them, who’s to say it wouldn’t have happened to others, too?

“I don’t think Iselda and Cornifer are amnesiacs, and the Elder is… well… you know,” he awkwardly finished. 

“Truly a mystery, indeed,” Quirrel replied. He thought for a moment, “But what about you? Do you remember anything before coming to Hollownest?”

Chance’s face scrunched slightly, a hand brought to his chin. “...Truthfully, I don’t remember... well, much. A few fragments of memory, walking in the cold, no purpose to it…” the pull of the memories called to him, but he stood his ground, “And light. At the moment, glorious, amazing light. Even my own possessions haven’t helped me remember much.”  _ Well, most of them, at least. _

“...That is incredibly disturbing, Chance,” Quirrel said, “Had the infection really taken hold that early on?” He looked back up to the door, “And yet, here you are.”

“I guess?”

Quirrel went quiet again, going over the embedded masks.  _ Guy must enjoy his dramatic pauses _ . “We should continue our journeys again soon. There is no time to waste.”

* * *

Chance idly followed behind the Knight, his nail in hand. Sure, he probably wouldn’t be able to use it very effectively, but it always paid to be safer than sorry. Especially with some of the bugs they had encountered. In addition to those crawling roaches and “vengeflies”(as Iselda had called them), they had encountered their first bipedal, infected being.

A short, rounded bug, mindlessly shambling in the same small crevice, the infection dripping out of every orifice. Chance shuddered away at the sight of it, gagging as the familiar, sickly sweet smell of infection wafted through his nose.

“W-What the…?”

The infected creature rushed them, arms waving forward mindlessly. This thing was straight out of a zombie movie. Chance brandished his nail to defend himself, but froze when his eyes and the zombie’s eyes met.

_ A golden light, encompassing all and everything. _

It was almost a mercy when the Knight sliced its nail across the zombie’s abdomen, cutting the creature down for good. But while the poor creature’s body fell to the ground, so did Chance’s nail from his shaking hands, clattering to the ground. The Knight looked back to see Chance fall to his knees, his whole body shaking.

_ “A-Am… am I g-g-gonna… am I-I really… g-gonna e-e-end up… like t-th- _ that _ …?” _

His orange eyes held a vacant and deeply terrified gaze, staring off into nothing at all. His body quaked violently; he was finally starting to grasp the horror of the Infection, and the nightmarish fate that awaited him in the coming days.

Days. He probably only had  _ days _ to live. After that… maybe he wouldn’t exactly die. But it sure as hell wouldn’t be much of a life worth living.

Soft pats echoed through the caves as the Knight approached Chance. He slowly lifted a small, dark hand, and gently ruffled the human’s brown hair. Chance looked up at the small bug, some life returning to his tangerine eyes.

“T-Thank you…”

* * *

They sat there like that for a few minutes as Chance calmed down from his panic attack, but they couldn’t stay there forever. When they finally got moving again, the Knight wasted no time hopping over the zombie’s corpse and slashing away at the mushroom-shaped rock behind it. It swung its nail like a bat, with cracks growing along the rock’s surface with every strike.

“Uh… What’re you…?”

The rock finally gave way and crumbled, and from within flooded out a small pile of shiny, metallic objects. They were small and rounded, with an almost bubbly surface. Chance crouched down and picked one up while the Knight scrambled to hoard the rest. He turned it around in his hand, feeling its smooth texture; he could easily hide several of these in the palm of his hand. He showed it to the Knight.

“What are these?”

Of course, instead of vocalizing an answer, the Knight simply yoinked the one out of his hand, and slipped it into a brown, cloth bag that Chance had never noticed it having before. It shook the bag a bit, as though weighing its findings, before- wait, where the hell’d he put that thing?! The bag had seemingly vanished in midair, much to Chance’s surprise. The Knight, ever so mysterious, simply tugged on his hand to keep moving.

“I… You know what? I’m not gonna ask.”

With that, they continued forward. Or rather, down. Beyond the tunnel was a large pitfall, filled with suspended platforms and the buzzing sound of flying bugs, and likely the kind that wouldn’t mind ripping them apart. The Knight, of course, went ahead and did him the courtesy of chopping up every last hostile bug hovering around the dark, cavernous shaft. That only left the issue of getting down himself.

Chance dramatically leapt from one platform to the next, stumbling after every other landing and sweating profusely. The worst ones were the ones straight down. It wasn’t a matter of how far he could jump or how athletic or agile he was; either his legs would handle the impact just fine, or they wouldn’t. The shakiness from the seemingly ancient metal platforms wasn’t doing his ankles any favors, either. After what felt like hours, Chance  _ finally _ approached the very bottom of the cavern, landing funny on the rocky floor and he falling face-first.

Strangely, he would’ve eaten the dirt if not for this conveniently placed paper left on the ground. Rolling over and sitting up, he rubbed his sore legs, before glancing over at the paper on the ground next to him, now with the shape of his face indented into it. He picked it up and flipped it over, finding markings etched into it. The Knight had ran up behind him, and was also studying the strange paper from over his shoulder. There were scribbles all over it, as though its creator was unhappy with how it had turned out and carelessly discarded it.

And something else caught his attention. Not on the paper, but in the noise in the air.

“Is that… whistling?” Chance asked the Knight. It tilted its head, then nodded. It was more of a hum, now that he thought about it. Amateur, yet an odd and catchy tune. Maybe the person who threw away this paper was nearby? Creeping into the hole in the floor from which the humming came, they descended into another cavern, however, Chance failed to watch his step and fell down again, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. A startled scream echoed through the caves, and the humming ceased.

“...Ch-Chance, is that you?” a familiar voice called.

“C-Cornifer?” Chance asked, grunting as he pulled himself up. The Knight hopped down beside him, clean of injury.

Sure enough, Cornifer was perched against a nearby wall, scribbling away at a sheet with a quill, humming all the while before his concentration was broken by Chance’s fall. The cartographer readjusted his spectacles, wide-eyed in shock at Chance’s presence. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought with your Infection, you were staying up in Dirtmouth-”

“Until the end of my days?” Chance interrupted, coughing heavily. He probably fractured a rib back there. “No. If there’s a way to cure myself, I’m gonna risk my life to find it.”

Cornifer stared at Chance through his glasses, before he sighed. “You’ve already had this conversation with Iselda before, haven’t you? I can see it in your eyes.” Smiling at Chance’s surprised expression, he said, “What? Did you expect an argument from me? I can’t say I endorse your reckless…  _ adventure _ , but even I know there’s no better way.”

Chance couldn’t help but break out in a smile as he leaned his back up against the same wall Cornifer sat against. “Th-thank you for understanding, Cornifer.” As he spoke, the Knight, too, sat down next to him, holding its feet with its hands and looking around expectantly, as if it was unsure what they were supposed to be doing here. Cornifer suddenly perked up and buried his face in the parchment he held, scribbling away furiously.

“If you’re looking for a cure- or anything down here, for that matter…” he pulled away his quill and lowered the paper, allowing Chance to look at it, “then you’re going to need a map.”

The paper was covered in the same scribbles as the previously discarded scraps. Unlike the abandoned pages, this particular specimen had reached maturity. It wasn’t that great, mind you, but preferable to exploring blindly. The map itself was composed of several scribbled lines, outlining many different pathways throughout the ruined crossroads. Curiously, one of the box rooms near the center of page had an ominous symbol, a crude helmet with two large, jagged horns protruding out of it.

Chance pointed at the aforementioned symbol. “What’s that symbolize?” After all, no one would put down something like that for no reason.

Cornifer squinted at the symbol, before straightening up. “A great bug knight rests there. It almost squashed me while I was exploring! I would highly recommend you not go there.” He said. 

Chance nodded, “Noted.” He went silent for a moment, “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a copy, would you?” He asked hopefully.

“Of course! I’d be glad to give you one for… let’s say, twenty-five Geo.”

...What? “I-I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t be sorry, friend! Why, I couldn’t in good conscience charge you full price for this, considering our friendship, and your, ahem, condition.”

Chance blinked, trying to understand. “T-That’s not what I meant, I-”

The Knight suddenly hopped up, pulling that strange bag out of thin air again and grasping tiny handfuls of the bubly metal objects out of it. Some slipped from its grasp, falling back into the back with soft  _ clinks _ . Cornifer laughed, “Having your companion pay for you, I see! A bit strapped for Geo at the moment, are you?” he asked in amusement, counting out the tiny metals from the Knight’s bag.

“...Oh. I get it.” Chance watched the exchange as a wave of understanding came over him. Cornifer and the Knight turned to look at him. “That’s… well, money, isn’t it? Geo is Hallownest’s currency.”

Cornifer seemed puzzled by the question, before his eyes widened behind his spectacles. “O-Oh, right! You’ve never heard of Geo before, have you?”

“Er, yeah. We used… other types of money where I come from.” How alien of a concept would paper money be to Hallownest’s people? ...Probably best not to worry about it now. It’s not like it mattered anyway; he had no choice but to start using ‘Geo’ as long as he stayed here.

“Fascinating!” Cornifer said. “You’ll have to tell me more about it some time. But until then,” he gingerly folded up the map and held it out to him. “I believe this is yours?”

Chance reached out to take it, but not before the Knight hopped up and plucked it out of Cornifer’s hand. It unfolded the parchment, studying it, before meandering further down the cavern.

Cornifer laughed again. “Well, I suppose he  _ did _ pay for it, didn’t he? Ahahaha! Oh, that child’s a riot.” Chance couldn’t help but smile at the Knight’s antics, before standing up to chase after him. Cornifer, however, called out to him before he got far.

“Chance!”

He turned around.

“...Stay safe, friend.”

Chance beamed. “I will. Thank you.” He felt a tug on his hand, and looked down to see the Knight standing by him, having returned to bring him along. Chance smiled and waved wordlessly back to Cornifer, before running off into the darkness with the Knight by his side.

Cornifer sighed, rolling up his parchment and placing it back into his patch, preparing to move onto the next area. “Oh, those children…”

* * *

“That was nice,” Chance mused as he carefully inched himself down a slope, making sure not to slip and get hurt. The Knight, on the other hand, had raced through the caves and down the slope, impatiently waiting for Chance to reach him. If he didn’t know any better, Chance would’ve thought the small thing was invincible.

“So, where to now?” Chance said as he dusted off his pants, having finally reached the bottom. The Knight pulled out their map, and Chance crouched beside him to look for himself. Funnily enough, these caves were lined with streetlights, powered by those “lumaflies”, so he could see the map and the general area clearly. 

Uhh… Okay, so that’s where Cornifer was. Then they went down… and… left- no, that’d be right on this map. Right? No, left. They went left… and it looked like there was just a long stretch of cavern ahead of them.

“I guess we just keep going forward, right?” There didn’t seem to be any other options around. Chance stood up, and the duo walked forward through the-

_ Sssschlink! _

They both whirled around; a gate had appeared seemingly out of nowhere behind them, locking them in the room. On top of that, a familiar buzzing noise filled the air around them. Looking up, Chance saw no less than three giant fly-like creatures, with heavy globs of orange Infection coating their abdomens. All three starred imposingly down upon Chance and the Knight.

“...Oh boy…”

A blast of Infection suddenly came flying at them, and the duo leapt in opposite directions to dodge it. The shot smashed into the ground where they once stood, and Chance could’ve sworn he heard a fizzing noise from the earth where it landed. They both drew their nails, and Chance got into a defensive position while the Knight jumped incredibly high up, intent on eliminating its foes before they got a chance to strike again.

Another round of Infection orbs flew at him, and Chance, in a moment of dumb panic, tried to shield himself from the blast instead of dodging. He raised his nail up to his face, and the orb smacked into it, Infection flying everywhere  _ except _ for his face. It stained his clothes and, where it made contact with it, burned his skin. Chance yelped in pain as he dropped his Infection-covered nail, collapsing to one knee as he held his burning hand.

The Knight was, thankfully, faring slightly better. With a mighty leap, he practically flew into the air and swung his nail at one of the flies, giving it a nasty scar dripping with Infection. As he descended, however, the fly took a shot at it. It was too late for the Knight to change course mid-air, and was lucky to get away with a bad hit on its leg. The small bug hit the ground and tumbled, dropping its nail, but despite its wounds, it managed to stagger upright again. It managed to dodge out of the way of another attack, picking up its nail and running the best it could around the small room. One had to keep moving to fight these things; staying still meant one’s demise.

Speaking of, Chance was still sitting duck, clenching his burnt hand. He saw the Knight hop onto a stone column and leap over to get another shot at the fly. Sure enough, his nail sliced open its side, and the fly finally lost control and crashed into the ground.

One down. But that still left two to go, and Chance and the Knight weren’t in the best shape.

Chance weakly tried to reach for his nail, but his burns flared up, and he collapsed, lying on his side, desperately trying to grasp his only method of self-defense. The Knight noticed his struggle and ran to help him. But with its injured leg, it wasn’t able to reach him fast enough, and Chance could only watch in horror as a glob of Infection flew at him and splashed square in the middle of-

_ -his face, finally having breached the surface of the water, took a heavy gasp of breath. He waved his arms around, trying to keep afloat as he took in his bearings. He was in the middle of an ocean, colored with oranges and golds from a brilliant sunset, the sky painted with soft reds and golds as the clouds drifted cooly by. His breathing was labored, and his soaked clothes were weighing him down, threatening to drag him into the abyss below. _

_ A creak. He spun around in the water, and behind him was a small canoe, painted an inviting shade of white. With nobody else on it, he grabbed onto the edge and clambered up into the boat, collapsing on his back when he fell in. He let his lungs take in all the air they wanted, heaving gulp after gulp of breath as the boat rocked beneath him. _

_ He laid there for a while, trying to catch his breath. Eventually, he pulled himself up, sitting properly on the seat of the canoe. His drenched clothes and hair were plastered to his skin, but he felt oddly warm. He looked around the area yet again; a sight for sore eyes, to be sure. The golden clouds floated across a tangerine sky, and the sea bent in fractals of brilliant sunlight and black abyss. It was… soothing. _

“...What are you…?”

_ He froze. With a shaky breath, he slowly turned around. There, sitting at the opposite end of the canoe, was  _ her. _ A being, brilliant in her divinity, her silhouette barely visible with the blinding sun behind her back. He couldn’t recognize her, but he knew she was not of this world. Or perhaps she was more worldly than he was? He knew nothing of her, of any of this. A shiver running up his spine, he carefully stood and reached out to her with an open hand. Her orange eyes went back and forth between his hand and his face expectantly as he took another step forward. However, the odd weight he placed on the boat caused it to rock, and he stumbled, falling face first- _

-into the earth beneath him. Chance’s head shot up as he gasped for breath, wiping a growing layer of sweat off his brow and onto his sleeve. He rolled onto his back and quickly scrambled up, looking around frantically for his nail. Finding it in the dirt nearby, he rushed over and fumbled with it until it was firmly in his hands again. He could feel his heart beating in his head as his eyes darted over the scene.

He must’ve blacked out when that glob hit him, but two of the flies were dead, while one was injured. The Knight was  _ not _ in the best of shape; it was covered in the orange stuff, and had fallen to one knee, only sheer willpower keeping it conscious. The final fly hovered above it, before rapidly descending, intent on finishing him off.

Chance, in yet another moment of panic, did the only thing his adrenaline-fueled mind could come up with, and  _ threw _ his nail as hard as he could at the fly. It soared through the air, spinning in chaotic spirals, before it managed to hit its target. Chance’s arm wasn’t strong enough to completely slice the fly in two, but a heavy gash opened up the fly’s guts as the nail’s blade hit it. Both the nail and the fly fell to the ground with a splat and a clang, before a silence fell over the cavern.

_ ...Ssschlink! _

The gates that had locked them in had opened, somehow in response to the outcome of the battle. Chance dashed over to the Knight and collapsed next to it, sliding across the dirt as he did so.

“Hey, heyheyhey, are you alright? Please be alright, c’mon, stay with me…”

He mumbled incoherently, praying that he wasn’t too late. A small hand rose from the Knight, and slowly, ever so slowly, began to ruffle the human’s unkempt hair. Chance chuckled, then broke into a laugh as he held the Knight close in his arms, tears threatening to breach his eyes.

Maybe they’d be alright after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to In My Time of Dying by Led Zeppelin.
> 
> My friend Piston finally got an Ao3 account and has been added as a co-creator :D
> 
> So we spent over a month of near-daily writing to make this +10k word chapter. It's... been exhausting. Neither of us have actually ever made a chapter this long before. But don't worry, because we plan on future updates to be far shorter and far more frequent for a while, we're not expecting to spend another month in silence before dropping another bomb like this.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support, and we'll see you in the next chapter in the (much more) near future!


	4. Tusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why don't you ask him what's going on?”

Chance didn’t think of himself as very passionate about religion, but even he could see that this place was nothing short of a blessing.

They’d nearly died in their fight against those fly… things, he knew that much. They couldn’t go on much further in the broken and tattered state they were in. They _ needed _ to rest and heal up. And, almost as an answer to their prayers, what did they find in the next room but a steamy hot spring and a bench? 

Maybe the universe may not hate them as much as he originally thought. Maybe. It certainly wasn’t rolling out the red carpet for them.

The bench wasn’t the epitome of comfort, but to Chance, he felt like he was lounging on fluffy clouds as he leaned back, stretching his legs out as he tried to catch his breath. His struggles in the battle before had already taken their toll; all that was left to do was to heal. Though, it wouldn’t hurt to speed up the process a bit.

One of the sturdy bottles was brought forth from the bag, uncorked, then a generous portion of the blue goo spread… everywhere he could. Everything hurt, everything ached, everything begged for relief. About half the bottle was used, but only brought relief from the pain. The angry burns and nasty bruises remained on his flesh. Chance’s brow furrowed; where was the miraculous healing? What… did the stuff have a horrible shelf life, or perhaps the healing effects weren’t as potent the more it was used?

An interesting and detrimental idea in theory, but in practice, a literal pain in the everywhere. Another issue to add to the list of stuff he would need to figure out in the future. Perhaps Dirtmouth had a library he could use? But that was for later.

Still panting, he wearily looked over at the Knight. It had declined to join him on the bench and instead had leapt into the hot springs with a splash. Its head bobbed at the surface of the water as it swam around, kicking its small legs in the water. As skillful a warrior as the Knight was, sometimes Chance really couldn’t see him as anything else but a restless child. 

“Glad to see you’re at least having fun,” he mumbled, hints of a smile creeping onto his features. A sudden thought occurred to him; maybe there was a way to add to the jovial mood. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, turning it on.

68% battery, and the time and date had progressed. Aside from that, nothing had changed. He’d have to start conserving battery, though, since he doubted he’d find a charger anywhere in Hallownest. Luckily, what he wanted didn’t require much energy. He opened the music app, tapped a random song, and turned off the screen with the music still playing through the phone’s speakers.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he drowned himself in the soft strums of a guitar.

_ “My, my, hey hey…” _

Chance let the tempting melody sweep him away from the bench, from the spring, from the hell that had been their adventure so far. It ferried him along the dark stream of his subconscious, the notes his boat without a rudder. Even without an accompanying memory, nostalgia and bliss swept through him, easing his burdens, almost convincing him everything would be alright. Almost. Just as quickly as the bliss came, it surrendered to his weariness and pain. His fear. The damn orange sickness flowing through his veins. Corrupting him-

He clenched his eyes, the lovely song battling against his poisonous thoughts. The venom of his mind slowly but surely beat back the music, chipping away at it. 

_ “It’s better to burn out… than to fade away…” _

But just like that, the poison diminished. Shattered, as if frozen to crispy ice, then annihilated by a vicious hammer. Chance slumped back onto the bench, hand on his forehead. What had his life come to? Running around underground with bugs? Wielding a blade with the dexterity of a child? A choky laugh escaped him. Yes, he was sitting in an underground hot spring, its water flowing from the mouths of monolithic stone statues near the edge of it. To add another few dozen missing puzzle pieces to the puzzle, the faces of said statues were quite similar to the Knight’s. Damn it all, what would be next? A-

Several pokes into his side brought him back from the abyss. Yet again. There wasn’t any point in checking who it was. The Knight and its signature poke were quickly burning itself into his mind; he’d grow used to it very soon.

“Hey,” Chance greeted. “You need something?” The Knight only grabbed onto one of Chance’s hands and gave it a tug. It pointed a tiny hand towards the hot springs.

“O-Oh, do you want me to-?” The Knight nodded. Chance sighed, but staggered up from the bench anyway, leaving his phone behind. It wouldn’t hurt, and who knew, maybe it would even be good for him.

As he stood at the edge of the hot springs, Chance faced a miniature conundrum; he’d rather not soak his clothes, and he definitely wasn’t about to strip them off in front of the Knight. He settled on the compromise of merely taking off his shoes, socks, and soaking his travel-weary feet in the hot water. Rolling up his pants to his knees, he slowly lowered into the near-boiling liquid. He grimaced from the intense heat at first, but let out a delighted sigh as he grew used to the temperature. This _ was _ comfortable; he could stay here all day.

A glance was cast over to the Knight. It had leapt into the springs again, but after seeing Chance only dip his feet in, it had climbed out of the water and sat beside him, trying to achieve the same result. However, the small bug seemed melancholy, as though bored by the relaxation as opposed to its own chaotic splashing.

A nice silence surrounded the two. The secret to a nice silence, however, isn’t the complete lack of sound, but rather a pleasant white noise filling the void. It could be anything, like a fan, or the constant _ pitter-patter _of rain. For them, however, it was the quiet gurgle of the miniature waterfalls from the aforementioned statues, with the distant warble of a guitar emanating from the bench.

“Say, uhh… could I ask you a few things?” Chance asked, breaking the silent spell. The Knight turned to look up at him, giving him its attention as it nodded. Remembering their very one-sided conversation from before, he was reminded that he could only ask yes or no questions. Unless the two of them put their heads together and got creative, they were stuck with binary questions.

“So…” Chance had so many questions he wanted to ask, but tried to settle on a good starting point. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

The Knight thought for a moment, then nodded. It hopped up and raced back to the bench where Cornifer’s map had been left. It unfolded the paper, the wide parchment looking comically large in the Knight’s small hands, before going back to the hot springs and showing it to Chance. He held the edge of the paper while the Knight pointed out a specific mark on their map: the large, monstrous face in the middle of the Crossroads.

“...Oh. I get it,” Chance said. “Cornifer specifically warned us _ against _ going there… so that’s exactly where you’re going to go next.” 

The Knight nodded. Chance really, really hoped it knew what it was doing. The alternative of them just following the metaphorical trail of blood for no good reason was too insane to even consider.

“Hey, uh… Do you mind if I ask something, er… kind of personal? It’s been bothering me for a while.” The Knight tilted its head as it folded up the map but slowly nodded a moment later.

Chance steadied his breath, heart gaining speed. “What… _ are _ you?”

The Knight tilted its head in the opposite direction. Chance gushed internally at how adorable it was, but kept a straight face for his question.

“Like…” He spent a few moments trying to pick the right words. “Are you a he, she…? They… ?” The Knight didn’t answer, as while Chance was trying to phrase his question, it had discovered the joys of kicking the water from the edge of the spring, small splashes rippling through the water.

“..._ It _…?” Chance offered hopelessly. He’d been referring to the Knight as ‘it’ this whole time, but the more he thought about it, the more derogatory it sounded. (He wanted to use the word ‘dehumanizing’, but seeing as how he was likely the only human in Hallownest… ‘debugizing’? ...Nah.) He decided to refer to the Knight as ‘they’ from now on, unless he happened to get a clearer answer. For their part, the Knight simply shook their head. How illuminating.

Ok, next question, and this one was going to be far more difficult. “What’s your name?” 

As he spoke, the song on his phone ended and had moved onto the next one, filling the cavern full of hushed whispers. The Knight had stopped their splashing and looked up at Chance again. Their expression remained unchanged, but Chance couldn’t help but feel an air around them of… sadness?

“Do… do you not… _ have _ a name?”

The Knight looked down, unwilling to meet Chance’s gaze. They almost imperceptibly shook their head. Chance could’ve sworn they were about to start tearing up.

And then the drums filled the room.

As the soft singing of the song drifted over from the bench and towards the hot springs, the Knight perked up, turning their head towards the source of the sound. They stood up and cautiously strolled over to the bench, as though it could lash out at any moment. Chance, unsure of what was happening, followed behind them. The Knight finally reached the bench and hopped up onto it, before reaching over and picking up Chance’s phone.

_ “Don’t say that you love me!” _

As the cacophony of brass echoed around them, the Knight kicked their feet a little, as they did back in the spring. But this time, it was in tune with the rhythm of the song. Their head rocked from side to side, too, as they fell into the groove of the music.

_ “Just tell me that you want me!” _

Chance couldn’t help but ‘dance’ along with the Knight as they rocked back and forth to the beat, bobbing his head slightly from behind the Knight as he peered over their shoulder to look at his phone.

And the soft singing grew and grew, before erupting into a shout:

** _“TUSK!”_ **

The Knight leapt up suddenly and spun around while standing on the seat of the bench, wildly shaking the phone in front of Chance’s face. He stepped back, surprised by the abrupt reaction, his eyes darting back and forth between The Knight’s dark eyes and the phone.

“What- What is it?” The Knight pointed to the phone, then to themselves, and then back to the phone. Chance’s eyes widened as the gears in his head began to turn.

“A-Are you… This song, you… You want _ this _ to be your name?” Chance blinked.

A vigorous nod.

“You want your name to be… _ Tusk _?”

Another nod, this one much longer and energetic. 

“Well… Tusk it is, I guess.” The Knight- no, Tusk- hugged his waist from over the back of the bench with a tight, adamantium grip. Honestly, as far as bugs went, the scene was nothing short of adorable. Chance smiled and pat Tusk on the head as he gently pried his phone away from their tiny hands, the clamor of drums and trumpets reverberating triumphantly off the cavern walls.

* * *

_ “D-Don’t say thatcha louve me, da da da, dananaa~” _

Chance and the newly named Tusk had healed enough where they could keep stumbling through the crossroads, with Chance singing what he considered his companion’s new theme song like an overjoyed drunk. And he _ was _ drunk, drunk off the inexplicable giddiness he felt from having bonded closer with his partner. And with the benefit of not having to worry about a pesky hangover.

Tusk skipped alongside him, swaying to the tune of Chance’s off-key singing. Not wanting to waste battery, Chance had turned off the music and had instead kept imitating the sound from memory as best as he could. These caverns were cold and ominous in contrast to the inviting hot springs, but their chants filled the crossroads with a certain warmth, and shallow promises that everything would be alright in the end.

Up and through the crossroads they travelled, breaking open more of those odd Geo mushrooms, and weaving through the rubble of a broken kingdom. Though, Chance noticed that there was much less rubble, and far more spikes, flies, and worms. He used the term “worm” lightly; these weren’t small, itty bitty worms that you would bait fish with. No, this was Hallownest, where every little thing had to be deadly. And little was an adjective that simply did not apply to its fauna.

In contrast to small, pink, squishy wrigglers from back home, they were massive, easily several times taller than him. They were covered entirely in spiky, dark gray-greenish chitin, a pulsating maw of teeth crowning their front. They would burst out of the ground periodically, showering anything nearby with the debris of such a violent entrance. The only saving grace afforded to the pair was their rhythmic bursting, and that they only burst out from one spot as opposed to moving about.

Aside from the hellspawned worms, no other trouble was afforded to the two. Granted, Chance’s definition of trouble had changed from _ “Oh lordy we’re under attack by flies” _ to _ “Oh god avoid the worm avoid the worm AVOID THE WORM-” _. In short, the smaller fauna had lost much of its psychological edge. Even now, those infection slinging flying fucks were few and far between- the only ones they encountered were quickly cut down by Tusk.

Before too long (and after a brief upward climb), they finally found themselves back within the crossroads proper, if the re-emergence of the ever-present rubble was to be trusted. Though the arch they stood under was in good shape, if he was being honest. Not just the arch, either. Indeed, the bricks under their feet were actually still in a cohesive formation, forming a smooth, if rustic, road. And the cherry on top, the crème de la crème had to be the ornate, blue sign at the side, an arrow coming from the circular body pointing inward of the arch. Oddly enough, the figure imprinted on it was a simplified… something. If he had to guess, the simplified caricature of a head. The only real striking feature of the symbol was a very large horn that branched out from the top of it.

Not that he had long to admire the sight. While Chance stood stupefied, Tusk continued climbing up the shaft, nearly leaving him behind. He’d have to check this place out later, if he got the chance. He climbed up the shaft as quickly as he could, even though his climbing speed paled in comparison to Tusk’s.

“H-Hey! W-Wait, Tuh… Tusk, hold up…” Chance called, but Tusk kept on with their ascent. Chance had no choice but to follow them up, beating back more hostile creatures along the way, until they both finally reached a plateau. Tusk attempted to run along, but Chance managed to pull his upper body over the ledge and call out,

“Slow down!”

Tusk froze, before turning slowly on their heel to face Chance as he rolled over the ledge and collapsed onto the solid ground. He took a few deep breaths, exhausted from Tusk’s little climbing race, but he eventually sat up on his side and pointed at the small bug.

“H-Hey, I get you’re eager to keep goin’, but do you even know where we are? ‘Cause I don’t.”

* * *

“Wh-What, so we _ missed _ it?”

Chance was flipping around through Cornifer’s map, trying to figure out where the hell they were. That was the hot springs, then from there, they kept going… and then went… up? Yeah, up. Right past that ominous knight-thing Tusk wanted to meet. 

Tusk couldn’t keep their eyes on Chance, instead staring at the cavern floor, as though ashamed by the trouble their enthusiasm caused. The map flipped every which way in Chance’s hands as he tried to comprehend where they were and where they should go next.

“It looks like the only real path is… back down,” Chance groaned. “We gotta go all the way back. Shit.”

A long pause and a tilt of Tusk’s head hit him with realization.

“Uhm… D...Did I say that out loud?” Chance sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Ahah, umm, s-sorry about that. Just… just, ah, pretend I said nothing, alright? Don’t, uh… don’t pick up any, er, ‘choice words’ you happen to learn from me.” He didn’t know Tusk’s real age, but if they were as much of a child as they seemed, he didn’t want to be responsible for teaching them to swear. 

_ “...oohhhh, brmy my mhmdr, pl nd slnght…” _

Chance blinked, looking around the cavern. Did he hear something? Tusk noticed it as well, perking up. They crouched into a fighting stance, anticipating an enemy.

_ “...brmy my fmthmr wmth hms ys sht tght!...” _

It almost sounded like… singing? The voice was muffled, and he couldn’t make out any words. But what he could make out was the direction of the voice, and it sounded as if it was coming from one of the passages up ahead. He took a tentative step into the mouth of another opening, with Tusk following behind him.

From the old Crossroads, this place felt like a whole new world. It was like stepping into the inside of a crystal geode. The dull, grey stone walls were replaced by vibrant, pink crystals, softly pulsing with a warm glow. They jutted out from almost every surface(save the floor), cluttering the whole area with their sharp spikes. Decrepit, wooden beams, lashed together with rope adorned some parts of the wall, acting as supports.

Idly, he broke a smaller crystal with his nail, shattering it into small bits like a small child would shatter an icicle. They fragmented crystals were warm to the touch, sending small tingles down his hand. It felt familiar, yet also so alien... They could prove useful, though.

A few of the more intact pieces slipped into his bag. He double-checked to make sure nobody saw him do so, and onwards they went.

The singing grew louder as they travelled deeper and deeper into the crystallized caverns. As they closed in on the source, the words of the song became clearer, the rhythm reverberating off the crystalline walls as they pressed on.

_ “...bury my sisters, two by twoo...!” _

Idly, Chance’s mind went to the idea of Sirens. Was the singing coming from one such specimen? An odd, crystalized one, perhaps. Definitely female, either way, though not… alluring enough to be a siren. Or maybe the crystals themselves were singing? Probably not, but there was something… strange about crystals. Even by Hallownest standards. Granted, not an active malevolent strange, but a more passive variety. Definitely tingly, however.

Dropping down an incline, they found the source of the singing. The source was not a siren, or the crystals; rather, a small-ish, round bug with a lumafly mining helmet atop her head, and wielding a pickaxe. Furthermore, the bug was hacking away at the crystalized wall, each strike from the tool spraying a small smattering of shards at their feet. 

_ “...and then when you’re done, bury me toooooo!” _

Her song ended on that note, the ethereal sound hanging in the air for a moment. She finally stopped her rhythmic mining, bringing the pick to a resting position, and turning to face them.

“Ha ha ha, do you know that one? It's one of my f-favourites! We can sing something else if you like. You start singing and I'll join in. I bet you have a b-b-beautiful singing voice! Ha ha ha!” She sounded jovial, but Chance picked up an odd repression, of sorts. _ Is she ok? _ She didn’t even seem surprised or shocked at two other beings just waltzing in on her singing, as if she was expecting them. 

“Well… I do have something, if you’re up to it,” Maybe humoring her for now would be the best idea. 

“Ha ha ha, of course! P-please, after you.” Definitely strained. She tightly grasped her pickaxe, shifting slowly from leg to leg. Quickly, Chance withdrew his phone and opened the music app. 

She wanted music? Well, it was time to show her music. Soft strums of a guitar echoed off the crystal walls, followed by a heavy base, and then by joyful rhythm.

_ “Your perfect vision… Of the life we had…” _

The ebb and flow of the tide on an overcast beach filled Chance’s vision, and suddenly he could _ feel _ himself there, his toes digging into the soft and moist sand as a cool breeze rushed into his face, whipping his hair around wildly. The salty fragrance in the air as he took a deep breath, the shudder as the frigid water rushed up to his ankles, only to fade away into a sea of black and green…

_ “Prompts my conviction… That my love will bring you back…” _

He almost didn’t notice when the small miner dropped her pick onto the ground with a metal _ clang _ , and she started dancing. It was a simple dance, a side-to-side rocking with swaying arms, but soon Tusk joined in with her as well. The two bugs, both barely reaching up to his waist in height, circling around Chance to the groove of the music. The pink glow of the cavern seemed to reflect and echo the rhythm, their soft glow pulsing to the beat, as if contributing to their little concert, making it all the more _ immersive _. They let the music wash over them like the waves of the ocean, drench them, drown them…

_ “But when I reach out… You seem quite calm...” _

“I-I never introduced myself, have I?” the miner suddenly spoke up, her timid voice cutting through the music. “I-I’m Myla. Who are you?”

“I’m Chance, and your dance partner is Tusk,” he smiled. Myla laughed with joy as she and Tusk spun around his legs, letting the music take them away together.

_ “Still my impression, lingers deep within your soul, in your soul…” _

* * *

_ “But when you look ‘round, see me standin’ there…” _

The trio was exhausted from their dance, and were resting against the crystal walls, smiles plastered on all their faces. Chance couldn’t help the giggles bubbling up, causing Myla to laugh in turn, causing him to laugh, trapping them in a seemingly endless cycle of amusement.

Tusk could not laugh, but Chance was sure that if they had a voice, they’d be in fits right now.

“W-Whaha, whahat…” Myla struggled to compose herself. “W-What was that? T-That… music box thing! I-I-I’ve never seen anything like it!

May as well tell her the same story he told Quirrel. “I, hah, picked it u- heh-, picked it up on the road,” he laughed. Their dance left them all in a strange high, the pink crystals around them clouding their vision in a haze that only contributed to their funk.

“I-It’s _ incredible _... “ Myla whispered. “I-I’ve never heard such beautiful music! Where did you find it?”

Chance wiped his brow. “Ah, well, we were climbing up here from the crossroads, and I uh, stumbled onto-”

_ “I’m only wonderin’, if by chance do you still care…” _

The haze vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Wait! We were going to that knight’s symbol… thing, weren’t we?!” He stood up quickly. Tusk followed suit, suddenly standing at attention. The cure for his disease had to be found. Whatever lurked there might be his only lead, and as fun as it was, dancing in a crystalline cave wouldn’t fix him.

“Aw, l-leaving so soon…?” Myla sadly said. Tusk rushed over to her and wrapped her in a tiny embrace. Chance gave a somber smile as he knelt down and patted the miner on her back.

“Don’t worry. We promise to come back sometime, we just have some… important things to attend to first.” Myla looked up at him, but her eyes widened with shock when they crossed his.

_ “And though I had to… see somebody new…” _

“Y-Y-Your eyes-!”

“Don’t worry,” Chance said hurriedly, though he couldn’t force a smile anymore. His face was just a dull grimace. “I’m gonna fix this. I’ll cure myself, we’ll come back here, and all three of us can dance through the night. How’s that sound?”

Myla looked doubtful, but slowly, a sad, small smile crept onto her face. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Chance confirmed without hesitation. Without anything else to say, he rose up and turned to leave. Tusk gave a final wave to Myla before rushing off back the way they both came. For a reason Chance couldn’t explain, the crystals seemed to glimmer differently now; they were still the same rose-pink as always, but there was a new light within them, something that defied nature. Something as brilliant and warm as a rising sun.

_ “Don’t be mistaken, I’m still dreaming about you…” _

Chance shook his head and steeled himself. He’d keep his promise.

_ “About you~” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Tusk by Fleetwood Mac.  
Other song references in this chapter include:  
My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue) by Neil Young and Crazy Horse  
Catalina by Allah-Las
> 
> As we said in the last chapter, this new upload is a lot shorter, only around 4k words. I think we're still going to try to shrink chapter size down even moreso, but this is a good start.
> 
> What do you think of the name Tusk? I know the most popular names for the player character include Ghost and the Knight, but Chance has no real reason to call them Ghost, so we needed a new name. Just as we were planning to upload this chapter, we got the idea of naming more characters without a proper name by this theme, so feedback on this(and/or about any aspect of our story!) would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support, and we hope to see you in the next chapter!


	5. The Pretender, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What if I say I'm not like the others?”

Chance was beginning to doubt Tusk’s judgement for leading them here.

After their descent back down to the same level with the menacing knight symbol on their map, the pathway they had to go down was already creepy enough. The rest of the Crossroads was a far cry from sunshine and rainbows, sure, but they were in  _ underground caves _ . They weren’t exactly meant to be inviting, with only some stone pathways and lamp posts showing that anyone had been there at all.

But this was different. This place was too  _ sophisticated _ , with expert masonry evident on every surface despite the mask of what must’ve been years of erosion. Rough and unpredictable rocky confines had transformed into stone-cut brick walls. The bumpy path had become a smooth cobble road. The occasional lamp post had evolved into intricately woven metal fences and structures.

This place had  _ life _ , had  _ society _ . And it was all gone now, only whispering ghosts in the howling wind. Chance shuddered again. All that was left to do was hope that the deceased were at peace now. He wished the same could be said about their bodies, though.

While the lower life forms such as the flies and worms ruled the untamed wilds below, the Infection’s puppets roamed the ruins. Any higher cognitive function had been dashed from them, reducing them to staggering about and leaking orange pus. Some of them resembled Myla, mad orange eyes and in some cases a singular horn replacing mining equipment, while others were taller, leaner, multi-horned, and jumped about. Aside from the three “types”, so to speak, they were almost identical. 

At the very least, they were relatively easy to cut down; let them rush mindlessly at you, sidestep, then stab and slice until they stop moving. The sensation of his blade cutting and crushing through their shells was a feeling he was quickly getting used to. What was harder to get used to was their response to it. They didn’t cry out in pain, instead releasing mad gurgles and animalistic shrieks.

_ Would he be like that, too? _

Despite the attempts of the deceased denizens, the two probed deeper and deeper into the old tunnel. Chance stalked behind cautiously, the haunting atmosphere giving him goosebumps, while Tusk simply trotted on ahead unfazed. A few cobwebs were brushed aside with his nail as they stepped from the tunnel into one of the largest areas they had encountered yet. Aside from the rubble, collapsed platforms and messed up metal, the space was seemingly empty. 

The only real interesting side from an unusually large, uncut boulder and a stalagmite sat square in the center of the area, dwarfing the rest of the debris. Glancing around nervously, Chance allowed himself to relax when he didn’t spy any signs of the orange infection lurking anywhere. He moved forward and sat down next to the boulder, his feet sore from all the walking they’d been doing. A sigh escaped him as he rubbed his toes through his shoes. His nail was propped up against the rock as he rested, content to just sit here for a minute with Tusk.

His heart damn near stopped when he felt the boulder shift from behind him.

Chance tensed up as he tried to move, but his reflexes were far too slow as something  _ shoved _ him away, sending him and Tusk flying to the other end of the room. Chance came to a rolling stop as his eyes frantically shot up towards the “boulder”, which had grown arms, legs, and a very heavy-looking club.

_ That’s no boulder. _

While not a boulder, it had the smooth shape of one, and if Chance had to guess, the endurance of one as well. Now that he had a better look, its chitin was obvious, and seemed to split between a lighter grey for the body and a darker grey for the “head”. Though a more apt description may have been “eyes superimposed upon a ball”. They carried a half-sleepy look, despite its intensity. Humorously enough, the darker chitin almost looked like a beard of sorts. It easily towered over him.

So in his not-so-expert opinion, they were dead.

He reached for his nail, but found that it had been flung a good few feet away. Chance tried to crawl over to it, but the massive creature slammed its club down in his path. A frightening shockwave rippled out from the sheer power of the strike, shooting him back into a half collapsed arch.

Tusk, for their part, had darted around the enemy and leapt up, slashing it on the back of the head. The creature doubled over in pain, staggering as its grip on the club weakened. Chance was dazed, but took advantage of this to stumble up and run over to his nail, grasping it just as the creature swung their club again, barely missing Chance as he tripped and fell to the ground.

Not one to waste such an opening, the Knight dashed in, nail already a flurry of swipes and blows. The effort left plenty of cuts and scrapes on its shell, but the creature seemingly ignored the wounds, turning to face the Knight instead without as much as a falter in its step. Raising the club above its head, it prepared for another devastating blow. Tusk quickly moved in, stabbing at its stomach. Unfortunately for the bug, the enemy shrugged off the normally fatal wound and brought its weapon down, catching Tusk with a sickening “crack!” from their mask.

With a battlecry bursting from within him, Chance brought down his own nail on the thing’s back with a two handed stroke. It had the intended effect of taking the beast’s attention away from Tusk, but his nail was now firmly embedded in its back. Before he could pry it out, the giant husk quickly turned back to him, club already raised for another strike. Before it could come down on him and crack his skull open, he flung himself to the side, avoiding the blow. The shockwave did catch him, causing him to roll a foot or two. He’d be feeling that in a few hours. If they were still alive.

Chance tried to roll back onto his feet, but his battered body refused to respond properly, instead sprawling him out on the ground, covered in black and blue. Already, the husk had raised its club for another blow, one that he couldn’t avoid. One hand was raised pathetically over his face, himself cowering in fear. Was this how it was going to end, crushed by a giant bug? 

Before the blow could come down, however, Chance saw a blur of movement near the husk’s head. It was Tusk, nail in hand, grappling for a foothold on the thing’s shoulder. Their mask was cracked, bits of black… something forming and evaporating from them. The giant let its oversized club drop in favor of trying to pry the Knight off with its hand. Said plan was quickly ruined by the Knight stabbing it through the brain several times, causing a tide of orange to leak from it. Its arms went limp, then the rest of the body, falling forward with an almighty thud. Almost on top of Chance.

He yelped, quickly crawling back to avoid being crushed. Tusk, meanwhile, had gracefully leaped off, still leaking that substance.

A heavy silence fell across the room as the dust settled around the creature’s corpse. Chance could hear his heartbeat pounding in his head, his breath shaking. Slowly, using his nail for support, he managed to pull himself off the ground, his legs still quaking violently. He felt like he could collapse at any moment.

But instead he jumped.

“ _ YES! _ ” he screamed, shattering the silence like a thin pane of glass. “HAHAHAHA! GOD  _ DAMN! _ ” Chance laughed maniacally for a good minute, with Tusk still on the other side of the room, watching him curiously. Chance skipped up to the corpse and gave it a kick, still laughing like a madman. He’d never felt a  _ rush _ like that before; the sheer  _ thrill _ of combat, the surge of adrenaline through his veins, leaving him an ecstatic mess at the end of it all. All that was left was the corpse of his enemy and the echoes of his laughter off the tunnel walls.

Oh, and Tusk was there, too.

It took several minutes for him to calm down enough from his adrenaline high where the two could continue their journey. Chance stumbled along, still laughing himself to tears, while Tusk had to tug on his pants to keep him moving.

Chance sighed as his laughter finally died down. “Haaaa… Jesus. S-So what’s next?”

Tusk stopped, and turned to look up at him. Their mask’s various cracks had vanished.

“I mean, that guy back there was the giant knight we were gonna fight, right? We fought him, so what’re we doing now?”

Tusk looked at the ground for a moment, before pulling out Cornifer’s map. They  _ did _ get to the same level as their enemy, and the map’s shape suggested they would go down a narrow tunnel before arriving at a larger room with the giant knight, which matched up with what happened. Afterwards, they’d go down a pretty short path, eventually arriving back in the tall chasm with all the suspended platforms.

...Well, if they really did just defeat that knight, guess all they could do was go ahead and finish this loop. Maybe afterwards they’d meet Cornifer again, if he was still hanging around.

...

...Say, that “short path” looked more like just a doorway than anything. This walk was awfully long for something like that.

…

...Oh, hey, the room was opening up again.

Tusk and Chance entered a massive room, with a ceiling that stretched up high into the air. Their footsteps echoed off the brick walls, but aside from that, it was silent. Chance was not a very perceptive person, but he found himself tightening his grip on his nail as he noticed three things about the room immediately:

One, it was almost empty; little bits of rubble, debris, and not even a false boulder in the middle. The place was near impeccable.

Two, they should’ve been back at the chasm with the platforms now, yet they clearly weren’t.

Three, the gateway at the end of the room was sealed with metal bars. They’d hit a dead end.

“What’s going on?” Chance asked. “Where are we, really?” He took a few strides out to the center of the room, glancing around as though something would jump out at any moment and attack them. He heard the patter of footsteps behind him, and spun around to find Tusk climbing above the doorway they came in from. Just above them, he could see an opening in the ceiling; odd design, but Chance didn’t question it as he ran to follow the small bug up.

As they climbed the shaft, it twisted around until they both popped out on the next floor. Chance felt his chest clench; there were definitely enemies here. Just ahead, about half a dozen Infected husks wandered around aimlessly. He brandished his nail, but felt a wave of nervousness fall over him. He could deal with one of these guys easily enough now, but six? And on top of that, there was some other nervous feeling, nagging him at the back of his mind, as though there was something important he was forgetting…

Eh. they’d probably be fine.

Chance lagged behind Tusk as they strode into the room, the Knight casually slicing down the nearest enemy. The bug didn’t even look concerned when its companions noticed the loss of their comrade, their infection laden eyes turning to stare at them. Inaction quickly turned to action as the walking corpses stumbled at them with the precision of a drunk long jumper. Quite quickly however, despite their shamblings.

Despite the swarm, Tusk kept their cool. The Knight didn’t even attempt to gain any distance from them, preferring to patiently wait for them. Just before the group could encircle them, Tusk quite literally leapt into action, performing a high vault into the open air. Nail drawn, they landed on one of the horde, impaling it through the head with the nail. That one down, it jumped to the next one, swinging a downward strike upon it, nearly splitting its head in half. While it gurgled its final death throes, the Knight had already moved onto the next member. And so on and so forth, until all that surrounded them was the vast space and half a dozen mutilated corpses.

“Um…” Chance felt he had to say something, anything to such an impressive display, but no words came to mind. “That was… pretty impressive.” He tentatively held out an open palm for a high five to Tusk. The bug gave an odd look to display, before pressing their own palm into his. It was a start.

Foes dispatched, they continued to the other side of the room, where an exit alternate to their entrance laid.. All was going smoothly until the shrieking of metal against metal assaulted their ears, bringing them to a screeching halt. 

“What the… oh no…” A heavy-looking gate had fallen over the exit. A quick glance to the entrance confirmed that the same fate had befallen it, trapping the two in. Being trapped in the room itself may not have been much of a source of concern. Chance had his bag full of minor goodies while the Knight had his nail; they could have figured a way out to escape the situation. That they could have dealt with. What they were much less ready to deal with came quickly materialized from the ceiling. Gravity quickly forced it to the ground. It was impossibly large, easily two, maybe three times as tall as Chance. It was large, bulky, and covered in formidable metal armor. What really caught the eye was the gargantuan mace it held in one hand, and the 4 horned helmet that adorned the head. The true knight of this domain.

“Oh ffff _ fuck _ .” Chance whispered.

The monster heaved its mace high above its head, reared its head back, and  _ roared _ .

* * *

In summary, things had gone very downhill very fast.

The massive knight leapt impossibly high over them, and Chance had to run away to avoid getting crushed, tripping and hitting the floor in the process. The knight stood behind them, and raised his mace high in the air before crashing it into the ground with a deafening  _ smash! _ Tusk weaved in and out between the knight’s legs and gave it a rough gash on its back. The knight hollered again, its voice muffled from underneath the visor of its helmet. Chance staggered to his feet and took off running again as the enemy jumped again and smashed into the ground near the center of the room.

And it went fucking berserk.

It slammed its mace into the stone floor again and again, the poor bricks cracking under the sheer force as it screamed like a muffled madman. It swung its mace wildly and in all directions as the room around them quaked chaotically.

The unsteady floor caused Chance’s knees to buckle as he hit the floor for the umpteenth time, the back of his head banging roughly against the stone. He winced, slamming his eyes shut. But in the small moment when he was blinded, rocks began to tumble from the ceiling, and had he opened his eyes just a moment sooner, he may have been able to roll out of the way to safety.

But it was all for naught, as a small boulder came falling down and crushed his leg.

Chance  _ screamed _ as he felt his bones break and his leg bend in unnatural ways. His leg was suddenly  _ burning _ , burning from the scalding-hot blood that seeped out from all sides. Fueled only by sheer adrenaline, Chance grasped onto the boulder and wailed as he rolled the rock off of his leg. The lights in the room were dim, but he could still see his leg in shambles, his torn flesh oozing crimson blood.

The knight slammed its mace down again. Chance had to get out of here. He  _ had _ to get out of here.

Tusk, still weaving around the knight in a blur, noticed his distress and rushed over to him. The small bug skidded to a halt next to him, and held their hands over his wounded leg. A cold, pale light suddenly filled the room, emanating from Tusk’s hands. Chance recognized it as the same… was it magic? The same magic that they had tried to use to heal him two or three days earlier on the way to Dirtmouth.

But they’d had a problem using this magic then, so it only made sense they’d have the same problems now.

His leg was unchanged. The cool wisps around Tusk’s hands were quickly thawed by the unbearable heat of his blood, and the pale light faded. Chance choked back a sob; How did things go downhill so quickly? Fighting through the tears that were welling up in his eyes, he saw that without Tusk dashing around to distract it, the knight’s full attention was now focused on him.

_ They had to get out of here. _

The knight slammed down its mace threateningly, and the floor cracked heavily beneath it. But Chance also heard a second crack, looking back to see the wall behind them looking heavily damaged, even more so than the floor was. The masonry had been reduced to more cracks than stone. Even now, this false knight’s attacks were shaking small bits of dust and pebbles from it. Tusk’s nail was strong enough to break through stone, wasn’t it? They had demonstrated as much back before Dirtmouth.

“T-Tuhsk…” Chance groaned. He didn’t think he could move with the overwhelming pain and the crippling injury, but with his life on the line, he had no other choice. “D-Duh… T-That wall, it…”

Miraculously, Tusk seemed to catch on, and quickly leapt up, striking the wall with their nail. The monstrous form of their enemy was fast approaching, but with a few more desperate swings, the wall gave, and the bricks crumbled into the dark hole that was left behind.

Chance had no way of knowing where that hole led, but didn’t even bother to think about it as he tried to stagger upright, sobbing with agony as he used his nail as a cane. He could hear the monster’s heavy footsteps behind him. With a last-second burst of adrenaline, he clambered out through the hole, just barely escaping the knight’s mace as it swung behind him.

And with that, Chance and Tusk tumbled down into the darkness with a scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to The Pretender by Foo Fighters.
> 
> We actually had this chapter pretty much completed a few days ago, but things have been hectic lately and we haven't gotten around to finishing up and uploading until now. We're sorry about that, and we'll try to get the next chapter out without any further complications.
> 
> Also, fun fact, that escape route in the wall actually exists in the game. We didn't just pull some bullshit there.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for your support and we'll see you in the next chapter.


	6. Comfortably Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is there anyone home?”

“Ow ow ow… Careful! ...Ok, ju-  _ yowch! _ Don’t touch it there!”

Chance grunted as the Knight gently poked and prodded at his mangled leg. He was laid against a cavernous wall, his pant leg rolled up so Tusk could get better access to the wounds. While Chance grimaced in pain, small tears squeezing out of his eyes, Tusk was spreading lifeblood over the afflicted area. They had already gone through two bottles of the substance, but the leg didn’t appear to be getting better. The pain had receded somewhat, though it still hurt way more than it had any right to. Even with the lifeblood’s soothing effects, his thoughts refused to function beyond admissions of the pain and silent curses.

Once again, though definitely not for the last time, he lamented the lack of humanity’s medicine here. While the lifeblood was good and all, some actual bandages and painkillers may have been worth more. And a splint. And a trained physician too, because if he was going to wish for impossible things, he may as well go big.

At their current junction though, they didn’t have much choice but to brute force the healing of the injury with lifeblood. It was either that, or leave himself behind while Tusk ran to get help, and with the pissed off knight in the previous room, help was unlikely to come. Not to mention he didn’t even know where they were. After escaping through the broken gate, everything got… foggy, so to speak. They jumped… they… yeah, definite memory gap there… something something, a bit of staggered running, then here they were, trying to save his leg. Here’s hoping lifeblood took care of infection… Microbial infection, not the orange infection. Oh, and the bone setting properly, now that he thought about it. Damnit, where was a brace when you needed one?

Tusk had finished the third bottle’s contents, and was moving onto a fourth dose. The last bottle, if his math was correct. Yeah, yeah… one bottle earlier after those flies, and now four of them for his leg. That made sense.

Well, better to use all of it to survive than save some and die as a result, right? Though even all of it may not be enough from how things were shaping up. His leg still looked like a bloody hamburger run over at a demolition derby held by the local county fair, but the pain had eased up to a hot stabbing burn. Still hell, but manageable. Hopefully the bones hadn’t fused together incorrectly. It seemed to do that with skin, so what would stop his bones from following suit?

With the last empty bottle placed back into his bag, Tusk helped him to his feet. His nail went from a weapon to crutch, providing poor support, but once again, better than nothing. A sharp lance of pain struck through his leg as he stood up. While the pain remained, the bones did hold. Small blessings, right? Now that he was back up and in (terrible) okay shape, they could finally move on. Another pulse of pain ran through his leg. Slowly. Yes, they could move on slowly.

With the pain that plagued him reduced, Chance finally managed to get a good look around. They were in a dim, dank tunnel, one that was actually rather cramped. While it was composed of natural stone, a bit up the tunnel he could see it connect to the architecture of something surprisingly intact. At the very end of where they came from, durable iron bars blocked the path. So much for the “go back the way we came” plan.

Chance tentatively put a step forward with his good leg, but the extra pressure put on his bad leg sent him stumbling. He grit his teeth, fighting off the pain as he tried not to blurt out a swear. “C-C’mon,” he seethed in agony. “We…  _ Fffttt _ wegottaget… help…”

Tusk put their hands on his good leg, trying to support him despite the difference in stature. He limped along deeper into the darkness, the only noise echoing from their footsteps and the dripping of his blood on the ground.

* * *

_ “H-Hello?” _ Chance called. Neither of them knew their exact location; they were most definitely to the left of the large knight’s room, but their map unhelpfully marked their area with just a plain rectangle. Their surroundings were an ominous looking place, decorated with the skulls of bugs littered across the ground and impaled onto pikes. He shuddered; this was the exact  _ opposite _ of what he was looking for. If someone or some _ thing _ lived nearby, they might be happier to turn his leg into a meal instead of healing it… 

Unfortunately, he was kind of out of options at the moment. If there was even the slightest possibility of help being found down here (or an exit), they had to at least check. That and this was the only path they could find.

The path of skulls and lanterns had eventually led them to the mouth of a massive structure made of bone, almost as large as the Black Egg Temple. It towered over the two of them, menacing skewers like a crown of thorns jutting from the apex. A pale light could be seen through the gaping maw; a sign of life? His nerves were all screaming at him to limp out of there as fast as he could, but-

“Oho! Who is that creeping out of the darkness?”

Chance nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. His eyes darted over to a small, dark form standing beside a bony bench. The being’s face was obscured under a large helmet that resembled a snail’s shell, though the thing’s light pinpricks for eyes stuck out clear as day. Hanging around its neck as well was a necklace of skulls. Their body was just shorter than his; the shadows of the space seemed to warp around and conceal it. They also wielded a long staff with a similar skull impaled on the end, not unlike the pikes outside.

The strange creature put a hand to their mouth and chuckled. “My, you’re looking grim! A strange, empty face and a wicked looking weapon! And you,” they turned to Chance, “Well, you’ve certainly seen better days, haven’t you, strange fellow?”

In all honesty, Chance may have found the exchange humorous if not for his busted leg. As the situation stood, his mind fervidly kept returning to it, breaking any concentration that tried to worm its way to the forefront.  _ Must… rest… _

Limping past the two, he single-mindedly went to the bench (“Oho, not even going to give a simple hello?”), then plopped himself down upon it. His head went down to his torso, where his hands cradled it. He just needed rest.

While he sat there, dead to the world, Tusk and the being struck a conversation. Despite his hibernation, their words probed at his consciousness, but he merely tuned them out. For how long they spoke - or rather, the snail person rattling on - he couldn’t say, but one phrase finally made its way through his mind.

“-ay no more, friend. I'm going to give you a gift, a nasty little spell of my own creation. It's just perfect for a little one like you! Ohoho!”

‘Nasty little spell’? Nothing named that could be good. Chance thought about getting up to intervene, but... Tusk could take care of themself… yeah… they were a grown up… Wait, no, scratch that. He forced his eyes open and his head up, peering back at the two with dry, exhausted eyes.

The creature was waving its bug skull staff to and fro. Vaguely, the whole procession reminded him of a witch doctor performing a ritual. Perhaps this bug was a shaman of some sort? Was he about to witness the raising of the dead? Tusk transformed into a newt? The addition of their skulls to the shaman’s collection? This bug did seem to enjoy its skulls, after all. Perhaps a bit too much.

The skull on the staff glowed a pale, white aura as the staff’s dance intensified. In front of the shaman and Tusk, more of that pale light materialized in small globs, quickly rushing together faster and faster, coalescing into an unnatural, blobby shape. Soon enough, the form was complete, white wisps sweeping off of a floating, bright oval-ish bug face, giving the illusion of it being bathed in pale flame.

Before any form of protest could escape Chance, Tusk, without even hesitating, walked up to the apparition and firmly grasped it. Immediately, they jerked back, arms spread wide out and cloak swirling to and fro, as if it was caught in a fierce gout of wind. The Knight rose into the air, pale particles of the same type forming around them, then smashing into Tusk. More and more kept appearing, bathing the area in brightness. A flash of the same light suddenly exploded forth, blinding Chance. He raised his arms in a vain attempt to block out-

_ -that blinding, searing, tangerine brilliance... _

Just as quickly as the light had come, it faded away back to the murky light of the area. Blinking the residue from his eyes, his eyes widened when his vision cleared. Tusk lay motionless on the ground, limbs askew. No no no no no...

Ignoring his pains and weariness, he quickly rose from the bench, hand grasping his nail.

“What did you do!?” he roared. Though in actuality, it came out more as a raspy cough.

The witch doctor, for their part, stared down at the Knight as well, one hand rubbing its chin, “Perhaps I overdid the soul power. It seems to have knocked your little friend out!”

Chance stumbled over his words for a moment, unsure what to make of what the witch doctor said. “Wh- Bu- Soul-  _ Whaddya mean?! _ ”

The figure gave a laugh, “What do  _ you _ mean, friend? Surely you jest, as someone of  _ your _ nature.” 

_ Someone of your nature? _ “I don’t- What? Wh...” He almost asked ‘what do you mean’ again, but caught himself. This conversation was headed nowhere fast, on loop like a broken record. He needed answers.

“Ah, but you’d best get some rest,” the shaman suddenly piped up. “You won’t be accomplishing anything worthwhile with that bloodied leg, I assure you.” It placed a hand on its hip and glanced down at the unconscious Tusk. “Speaking of, perhaps I’d best bring the hollow one to a more…  _ comfortable, _ place to sleep.”

His confusion was interrupted by the odd sight of the shaman lifting Tusk up onto its shoulders. It carried the bug through an opening in the wall, where they were unceremoniously deposited onto the ground. While the snail was fumbling with a switch on the wall, Chance staggered over to them. A gate slammed over the opening, trapping Tusk inside, and Chance’s stagger turned into a limping ru-

Chance howled in pain as he stumbled on his injured leg, collapsing to the ground. Why the hell had he done that? His leg was practically mincemeat; he wasn’t in any condition to stand up, much less try to fight. Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached out for the gate where his only friend was trapped behind, desperation growing inside him.

The Snail Shaman approached him, sighing with their arms crossed. For once, their voice took on a more serious tone.“Tsk-tsk-tsk. An inspiring display, surely, but you’re clearly in no state to move. Come, return to the bench where your leg can heal,  _ without _ your foolishness.”

Chance merely groaned, struggling to pull himself up on a shaky arm before falling to the ground again. At this, the shaman gave a soft ‘tut-tut’ and walked past him. Chance thought it had given up on him, until he felt something catch onto the back of his jacket as the Shaman dragged him through the pile of bones on the ground by the end of its staff and over to the bench. For a small snail bug thing, it was surprisingly strong.

He was dragged along until his back was resting against the bench, head lolling back. Though that was quickly rectified by the snail pulling his head forward with the end of its staff. It was certainly uncomfortable, but what could he do at this point? He had already been reduced to a ragdoll to be dragged about.

“You really  _ are _ a wreck, aren’t you?” chuckled the shaman’s voice from beside him. “Battle-weary, crippled, and to top it off, I see you’ve caught that accursed Infection.” Chance wearily rolled his head over, but jumped when he saw the shaman sitting beside him on the bench, uncomfortably close, staring up at him from under its massive helmet. His knee-jerk reaction caused his leg to flare up in pain, and he hissed as he doubled over, struggling not to grab the wound in his hands.

The shaman covered its mouth, inspecting his leg. “Oooh, ohohoh, that’s quite a gruesome…” It trailed off for a moment, trying to pick a fitting word for his wound. “Bah, why even try? An injury like this defies description.” And it wasn't wrong; even with the four bottles of lifeblood, his leg looked like it had been mauled, grinded, smashed, and left to bleed out and rot. It was hard to tell in the dark arena at the time, but he must’ve been hit by one hell of a boulder.

The shaman reached out to touch his arm, but the instant they made contact, Chance could only feel their cold flesh for a split second before they flinched back as though they were just electrocuted. The shaman’s eyes were wide, flickering back and forth between their shaking hand and Chance’s arm.

“...How strange…!”

Before Chance could ask what she meant for the umpteenth time, the shaman was  _ on _ him, grabbing his face and peering into his eyes and mouth in a frenzy. Chance yelped and pushed the shaman away.

“W-Wh-H-Hey! B-Back off!”

“A-Ah, forgive me,” the shaman said, before grabbing Chance’s hand in their own. “It’s just… this  _ flavor _ , this  _ spirit _ , I’ve never felt anything like it…” The shaman took Chance’s hand and rubbed their cheek against it.

Chance tried, but failed, to hide a disturbed grimace. He yanked his hand away from the shaman’s grasp. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Chance demanded. He slid away from the shaman, now sitting on the furthest reaches of the bench opposite from the snail. As he did so, he felt a weight shift around at the edge of his pocket, and looked down to see the glossy surface of his phone peeking out. He reached down to stuff it back in, not wanting to try to explain what a phone was to the eccentric shaman, and-

A brief thudding of drums, and the downright  _ demonic _ riff of an electric guitar exploded from his pocket.

“Oh?” The shaman looked down at the source of the noise, and ripped his phone out of his pocket before he could stop them. They examined the reflective surface as Chance struggled to reach for his phone back, all while wildly chaotic tunes danced around the cavern like lightning.

“What bizarre item is this? Such a noisy thing!” The shaman turned their back from Chance to prevent him from stealing his phone back as they studied the device. They made a small  _ “Ooh!” _ when they discovered that pressing the home button turns on the screen, awash with color and light.

Chance made a particularly bold lunge for his phone, but seethed as his leg erupted in red-hot agony again. “Yeah, bully the powerless cripple…” he grunted.

“Cripple…?” The shaman looked up and turned to see his injured leg. “Ah, right. I forgot.”

_ “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU ‘FORGOT’?!” _

The shaman only chuckled. “Ohoho! But while your wound is indeed severe, perhaps you aren’t quite as ‘powerless’ as you claim!” Chance took the opportunity to steal his phone back, but not before the shaman grabbed his arm again. “After all, your  _ soul _ … it’s so unique, so…  _ enticing… _ ” They stroked the skin on his arm delicately, in the same way a diabolical monarch would stroke a cat lounged across their lap.

Chance tore his arm away with speed he didn’t realize he could muster.

“I listen to rock ‘n roll, not soul…” Chance mumbled.

The shaman looked confused by his words for a moment, before laughing. “Ohohoho! I speak literally, strange one. The power stored within  _ your _ soul, the incredible things you could do with your magnificent spirit... “ They smiled. “Why, I’d wager you could even heal your leg with that willpower alone!”

...Really?

The shaman chuckled. “Ohoho, caught your attention now, have I?” The shaman wasn’t blind; they could see the way Chance’s Infection-laced eyes lit up when an easy way of healing his leg presented itself. “I’m well-versed in the technique. I could teach you, if you would like-”

“Please.” Chance practically begged.

The shaman barked yet another laugh. They must’ve found him a real fuckin’ funny guy. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t do these things for free. I can give you your leg back. But what could you give me in return…?”

The faint smile that had just started to grow on Chance’s face immediately crashed down as he felt his gut wrench and a cold shiver wash over his skin. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. It was one step forward, two steps back with everything in Hallownest, it seemed, and every step of the way was taxing. Would he ever reach the end of his journey if he kept going backwards like this? It was like some sick cosmic paradox, a rabbit hole he had only just started to descend into. He bit his lip as he averted his gaze from the shaman. “Uhm, I think Tusk’s holding all our Geo…”

“Do you truly believe a desolate hermit such as I has any use for such currency? No, I don’t want your Geo. Rather, you could say this is an exchange of ‘knowledge,’ no?” The shaman stood up on the seat of the bench, their short stature allowing them to come to just slightly above eye level with Chance as they held their hands behind their back like a shrewd businessman. “From me, you will learn how to heal yourself. What could I learn from you, I wonder?”

“U-Uh…” Chance tried to think. Was there anything that he knew that the Shaman didn’t? He had to have learned something useful in school that he could use here, right? Something so firmly drilled in that amnesia wouldn’t affect his understanding of it. The sum of all interior angles of a triangle was 180.  _ The Catcher in the Rye _ was written by J.D. Salinger in 1951. The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell-

“That dark box of yours is quite intriguing. Allow me to study it for a time, and I will teach you how to heal.”

“Wha- Hell no!” Chance immediately exclaimed. He held the phone protectively to his chest.

“And why’s that? Is it so valuable to you that you’re unwilling to part with it for even a brief time?” The shaman asked.

Chance opened his mouth to retort, but pursed his lips as he looked down at the device in his hands. He couldn’t just  _ say _ why. He couldn’t just  _ say _ that he was an amnesiac and the only leads he had on his past were locked away somewhere on this phone. Any life he’d ever had prior to a few days ago was  _ here _ . It was literally his life, his world, his only link. It was everything to him.

“I’m not  _ demanding _ anything, you know,” the shaman spoke. “You don’t have to hand anything over. Instead, I’d be glad to give you a simple amputation for free…”

Chance felt his gut lurch. He hadn’t even thought about that; his leg may be too badly scuffed to heal naturally, especially with Hallownest’s no-doubt less-than-modern medical prowess. Even now it was still bleeding, and it was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn’t passed out or even died from blood loss already. If he didn’t get it treated soon, he could very well fall dead before he even walked out of this place.

And this shaman, that scumbag con-artist, offered him two treatments. One; he could have his leg sawed off, but he couldn’t just hobble around like a living pogo stick while searching for a cure to his sickness, and he didn’t expect the shaman to have any suitable prosthetics on hand. This was medieval medical Hallownest, after all.

_ Or _ , he could get his leg fully healed as though it were never injured to begin with, using a technique that he could re-use in the future if he got hurt again. But it would cost him his life; his old life, stolen from him and with only traces remaining in his phone.

With a shudder, Chance realized that this dilemma boiled down to what he valued more:  **his past, or his future?**

…

...And when he worded it that way, the answer was easy enough.

“Just… Don’t break it, alright?” He tried to give the shaman the most threatening glare he could, which must’ve looked pretty silly, judging by the shaman’s giggle.

“I wouldn’t dream of it... How about this, once you slay the beast that wrought this wound on you, I will return it whenever it is convenient.”

That knight. Chance felt his chest tighten at the mention of it. Even with Tusk’s aid, it had swept the floor with them. They only survived because they got  _ lucky, _ and nothing else. Would this new healing technique really be enough to take it down? Or whatever that ‘nasty little spell’ Tusk apparently had now?

A thought popped into his head. He reached down and pulled out Cornifer’s map from his pocket and examined it. After a few seconds of studying it, he nearly started sobbing.

“What’s got you making that face for?” the shaman asked.

“... _ Twice… _ ” Chance whined. “That hallway opened up into a bigger room  _ twice _ before the knight…” He collapsed his face into the map. “And I thought that smaller knight in the first room was the guy we were looking for…”

Chance’s misery was compounded by the Snail Shaman’s echoing laughter throughout the bony cavern.

* * *

“The process of focusing your soul is a simple one,” the shaman stated, staff in hand, “Twisting the energy of the soul to your own ends. And in your case, the process of healing.” 

Chance was still seated on the bench, leg extended and propped out in front him. The shaman was seated next to him. “So… how do I do this ‘focusing’ thing, then? Do I have to close my eyes or something?” 

“It is not literal focusing. You could say it is akin to... stretching a muscle. Tapping into your own energy, and bending it. I must admit, the prospect of using your particular soul… it’s  _ exciting _ ...” The shaman trailed off, one hand reaching for his leg. “Of course, I shall do this by proxy, but what I wouldn’t give…” Chance’s own hand had stopped the Shaman’s from touching him.

“Can you stop making this weird?” He asked bluntly. His phone was already forfeit in exchange for this; he felt he was at least entitled to keep what little dignity he had.

“Oh, hush! For this time, at least, I require physical contact to assist you. We’re taking a tiny shortcut in the learning process.”

“...And how would that work?” Honestly, the idea of a shortcut in this regard was less than comforting. Sure, one could gloss over history notes or pieces of literature and call it a ‘shortcut’, but the downsides of doing so were obvious. Here, taking shortcuts to learning how to heal a grievous wound may not be the best of ideas, especially since this involved his ‘soul’. That didn’t even get into the point of how one took a ‘shortcut’ when it came to this sort of thing. Even then, it would be just his luck to botch the healing attempt and be killed instantaneously. Or become a ghost as his body rejected his soul, he didn’t know. 

“Learning to focus on your own is exceptionally difficult, especially for one so...  _ oblivious, _ to the soul. I shall rectify that by providing a helping hand. Blazing a trail, so to speak.” With that, the shaman firmly placed its hand onto the center of his good leg. “Now, concentrate on what you feel.”

An odd, pulling feeling suffused itself into his core. But it wasn’t quite physical; rather, it felt almost mental, like stretching a muscle you had never tried stretching before. The snail grunted in satisfaction as the aura grew brighter, the entire leg lit up in a weaker light. Small mutterings and incantations, weak at first, but growing stronger, made themselves known as the shaman did its work.

The flesh of the leg began to slowly patch itself up, smaller cuts and bruises stitching themselves together. Even the bones, still fragile despite the earlier applications of lifeblood, grew warm and began to strengthen. As the larger gashes began to grow smaller, however, the shaman removed their hand. “Now, you try.”

“But… how…?” 

The shaman groaned in exasperation. “Oh,  _ please _ . I gave you a demonstration, but I can’t hold your hand throughout the entire process. If you can’t learn to do this on your own, you won’t stand a chance, Chance!” They chuckled at their little pun-

Wait. “How do you know my name?” Chance asked.

The shaman only laughed harder. “Caught on, have you? Your name is embedded into your soul. A name is just a simple word, but it’s the greatest representation of who you are. Your identity, your beliefs, your will, your life, all bundled together in a word. I knew who you were the instant I touched you.”

That… actually kind of made sense.

But if everything that made him,  _ him _ , was all packed into his soul, then… maybe he didn’t even need his phone to find out his past. Maybe it was, literally, inside him all along. And if he could learn to tap into his own soul’s energy, he could uncover his history on his own.

All the more reason to take this “focusing” lesson from the shaman.

Setting aside any more questions about soul for the time being, he closed his eyes, scrunching his face. He tried clutching his gut inward, seeing as the pulling sensation had come from around that zone. But all of that came to a halt when he heard the shaman sigh beside him.

“You believe the process of focusing to be too  _ physical _ ,” they noted. “Perhaps it was a mistake to describe it as stretching a muscle. There’s no need to be so tense.” Being in the same room as the creepy shaman made Chance disagree, but he let himself relax anyway. The shaman closed their eyes and thought for a moment, trying to piece together the right words for him.

“Hmm… It may be best to throw out the idea of a ‘process’ entirely. Instead, think of it as...  _ truth _ . Your leg is injured. You’re going to heal it. You are  _ going _ to heal it. It  _ will _ heal. The healing of your leg is not a process or a skill to be learned, it is simply the  _ truth _ .”

Truth. Was that the secret to unlocking focus? He closed his eyes, took a breath, and looked down at his leg. It was covered in blood and gruesomely injured. That was true. But it was going to heal. That was also true. He was going to heal it now. He slowly moved a hand to hover over his injured leg, and watched as wisps of a cool, pale light, barely visible, began to dance around his fingers.

He almost jumped in shock, but didn’t. Because he shouldn’t have been surprised. Because his leg healing was a truth that he knew would happen.

He watched as the wisps turned to a greater light, and the blood on his legs began to recede back into the rapidly closing wounds. He felt dark bruises soften and his flesh stitching itself back up.

And before he knew it, his leg was just fine. And that was truth.

Chance blinked, breaking away from his concentration to look at his hand in awe, struggling to believe that he had really just done that himself. “Woah…” he whispered softly.

The shaman began laughing like a hyena, clutching at their gut as they struggled to contain themselves. “Ohohohoho! Ahahahaha! I knew you had it in you! The unique and alien power of your soul finally shines through!”

While the shaman struggled to stand from how hard they were laughing with joy, Chance blinked. They’d called his soul ‘unique’ a couple of times now, hadn’t they? He assumed that souls were relatively common, and if healing was such a low-level spell, what made his soul stand out so much from others? Tusk apparently had one, too, since he had tried to use the same pale light to heal him twice before. “Hey, what do you mean by-”

_ Shhhink! _

Both of them went silent and turned their heads over to the gate on the opposite side of the room. Tusk stood in the doorway, but they weren’t looking very good. Thin, dark cracks ran along their mask with black fluid seeping out of them, and they staggered forward a few steps before collapsing into the bone-covered ground.

“TUSK!” Chance shouted, bursting out of the bench and dashing over to his companion’s fallen form. In the back of his mind, he noted how much better his leg was feeling for him to be able to run like this. But that wasn’t a concern to him as he fell to his knees next to his small friend.

His eyes darted up and down Tusk’s dark form, noticing further injuries all over their body. Whatever they went through behind those gates roughed them up badly. With a panicked breath, he held a shaky hand over Tusk’s body and focused on the cool wisps around his fingers again.

Tusk was going to heal.

He was going to heal them.

He was going to save his friend.

And that was the truth.

The cracks thinned and fused back together, and the dark fluid slunk back into the wounds they had come from. Seconds that felt far too long ticked past, and soon, Tusk was in peak condition again.

“A-Are you alright?! C’mon, talk to me-” Chance’s pleas for an answer were interrupted as Tusk reached up with a tiny and ruffled his dark brown hair. Chance stared for a moment, before chuckling, and eventually broke out into a heavy laughter. He rolled over onto his back, laying beside Tusk in the bony ground, laughing into the open air like a maniac.

“And  _ that’s _ why your soul is so special!”

Chance’s laughter started to die down, and he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at the Snail Shaman that stood before them. “Huh?” he dumbly mouthed.

“To heal oneself is among the easiest of soul spells there is,” the shaman explained. “But to heal  _ someone else _ is something different entirely. In fact, it’s supposedly impossible.”

“B-But I did it just now!”

“That, you did,” confirmed the shaman. “You did something impossible and healed your friend. Nobody else in Hallownest’s history has ever been able to do that.”

Chance was surprised by this, and yet, it wasn’t too hard to believe. It explained why Tusk’s earlier attempts to heal him had failed; it wasn’t because they couldn’t do it, it was because  _ nobody _ could.

Nobody except him now, he supposed.

* * *

From what he understood of Tusk’s little foray deep into the shaman’s ancestral mound, it had been relatively simple; weaving through hazardous obstacles, dodging bugs and spikes as they went about. And at the end, slay a seemingly “invincible” armored bug-mole of sorts with the use of their new little spell. He still wasn’t quite sure how that worked, but he wasn’t one to argue with results, especially if it resulted in Tusk coming back to them alive. Nearly dead, but alive. Silver linings, right?

Of course, Tusk wasn’t the one who communicated this to him. Rather, the shaman had eagerly recounted said obstacles, complete with a blow by blow account of Tusk’s fight with the mole-bug thing. Or rather, its imagined idea of what went down; the shaman had flat out told him it actually had no idea what exactly had happened, and was just having fun with guessing, though he failed to see the humor in it.

But what was gained certainly was interesting, and perhaps worth its weight in gold, or was it now Geo? Bah, whatever. Anyways, one; Tusk had found another one of those lifeblood cocoons (the goo had stained their cloak with its scent), perfect for restocking his lifeblood supply, he just needed to get there. Two; the Knight had brought back an odd relic. It was a metal badge of sorts, various intricate carvings adorning its smooth surface. The badge fit snugly in Tusk’s palm; perhaps around 2 1/2 inches in diameter.

“Oho! I thought I lost that!” the shaman exclaimed. It quickly swiped the emblem from Tusk’s grasp, “Now where did you find this?” Tusk, for their part, shrugged. Would it be worth teaching them how to write? Maybe after he was cured.

Surprisingly, the shaman tossed it his way. He fumbled the catch, the badge clanking onto the ground. “I suppose it does not matter. Consider this a gift; it is not as if I need this trinket anymore. And besides, finders keepers!” Having stooped to pick it up, he finally realized what the pattern was. It was a snail shell, similar to the helmet the shaman wore, viewed from the front. Dull silver twisted it into the shape, the “inside” of the helmet smaller, crude shells. An interesting crafting project, but just that.

“Um… thanks? I guess,” He went to put it into his bag, but the shaman quickly piped up.

“And you’re not going to put it on?” For whatever reason, the shaman seemed disappointed, and even Tusk gave him what felt like a look of scorn. Or maybe that was coming from him indirectly stealing their prize.

“And… why would I?” It wasn’t like one of those flimsy, cheap little buttons that would be handed out freely at a high school job fair; this one was actually sort of heavy, large, and he wasn’t even quite sure how he could pin it on him at all, as there simply was no pin.

“It is a charm, my boy! In this one’s case, a little project of mine that I no longer have use for.’ It must have seen his confused expression, so the shaman continued, “A charm is what it sounds like. In short, it draws power from your soul to use its latent effect. If I remember correctly, that one allows the easier harvesting of souls.” Yeahhh… he was going to back away now a little. There was no way in hell he was going to use this thing. Maybe this whole “soul magic” wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.

Luckily for him, Tusk stepped forward, hand eagerly reached out for the charm. Without hesitation, he placed it back into their hands, happy to get it off of his own. Tusk gave the badge a quick look, before pinning it firmly onto their cloak. How they did it he couldn’t tell; he was just going to assume magic and leave it at that. The shaman huffed a little, but that was okay, maybe.

“I suppose you will be leaving soon,” the shaman actually sounded a bit sad, “It is not often I get visitors, especially such interesting ones.” Just as suddenly as the shaman had shifted moods, it did so again, “Wait! Before you go, I almost forgot I needed to show you one last thing.” Of course it wouldn’t be so easy to leave.

“Sure, I guess. Just one second please.” He turned to Tusk, and knelt down to them, handing them his bag, “Would you mind running back to that lifeblood cocoon and refilling the bottles?” Tusk obediently nodded, running back into the spiky bone cave.

“That should buy you five minutes, at least. What did you need?”

“Ah, it’s just… I realized that I haven’t even introduced myself yet!” Chance took a moment to register this and could only respond with a blink; all of this, and he hadn’t even bothered to learn the shaman’s name. He felt like an antisocial moron.

“Oh. Well, uh…. What’s your name, then?”

“I won’t say.”

...What was  _ with _ this shaman? “And… why’s that?”

“Well,” the shaman explained, smugly crossing their arms, “How’d I happen to learn  _ your _ name,  _ Chance? _ ” They turned around to face away from him, proudly looking over their shoulder at him.

“You, uh… Touched me, and… read? You read my soul.” He silently regarded the shaman’s expectant gaze before he blinked in realization. “...Oh. Did you want to…?”

The shaman turned back around to face him. “It’s not hard,” they explained. “If you can learn to focus your soul so easily, this should come naturally to you. A gentle tap is all it should take.”

Chance found himself seriously doubting it’d be that easy, but shut himself up as he reached down and gently laid a hand on the shaman’s shoulder-

_ A family of shrouded faces. _

_ A desolate cavern. _

_ All alone. _

_ A brilliant land of pink crystal. _

_ An overgrown hole, swarming with life. _

_ All alone. _

_ The pale, ethereal soul, twisting in ghostly fractals. _

_ All alone. _

Chance stumbled back, tripping and falling flat into the bony earth. His hand that had touched the shaman was shaking violently, and his breathing was rapid and uneven. He could feel his own heartbeat in his ears as he pulled his shaking hand into his chest, clenching it to keep it steady. And with his orange eyes, he stared up at the shaman, standing expectantly before him.

“Ophelia…” he whispered.

The shaman, Ophelia, cackled with madness and glee. “That wasn’t so hard to learn, was it?” Chance didn’t feel like he actually  _ learned _ anything, though; it was more of an experience than a lesson. For all he knew, Ophelia just used their own soul power to do…  _ that _ , to him. He supposed that he couldn’t really tell until he tried it on someone else.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated, however; this power was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Narcissistic as it may have sounded, he wanted to know about his  _ own _ life before anyone else’s.

It was then that he heard the patter of tiny footsteps behind him, signaling Tusk’s return with five bottles filled with lifeblood. They were all clinking around in his bag, looking comically large strapped around Tusk’s smaller form. Chance quickly relieved them by transferring them into his bag. “Oh, back already,” he commented. Tusk only nodded, lifting the bag’s strap over their head to hand back to Chance.

“Hoarding lifeblood so shamelessly? I see you hold little regard for… higher society’s taboos.” said Ophelia.

Chance sighed. “It’s not that I  _ ‘hold little regard’ _ for them. They’re just… so  _ alien _ to me. That, and I need all the help I can get if I’m going to find a cure for this Infection.”

The shaman seemed genuinely surprised by his words. “A  _ cure _ for the blasted  _ Infection? _ I didn’t take you for the ambitious type, nor a hopeless madman!”

“Is it  _ really _ that hard to believe?” Chance asked calmly. He’d had this conversation before. “If my life is on the line here, I may as well do everything I can to try and cure myself.”

“It’s hard to believe because as I said, it’s  _ hopeless! _ ” Ophelia cried. “You think nobody else before you has tried? There  _ is _ no cure.”

Chance froze for a moment, feeling his gut clench. He suddenly felt strangely angry, his fists clenching. He refused to look the snail shaman in the eye as he spoke. “And what makes you so confident about that?”

“The Infection is no earthy plague,” Ophelia explained. “It spreads not through filthy hands or uncovered sneezes. It is a disease of the  _ mind _ , one that infiltrates an unsuspecting bug’s dreams and grows within them, consuming them until they are but a mindless husk. There is no ‘proper hygiene’ for the mind, Chance. The only reason any sane soul still walks this earth is because of simple resilience, and nothing more. Every conscious person you’ve encountered so far got  _ lucky _ . And you didn’t.”

With every word, Chance felt his anger dissipate and weaken, and by the end of the shaman’s speech he felt very small. There was no magical flower that could cure him. There was no top-secret antibody in a vial locked away in a lab. No ancient spell that would purge the Infection from his body.

**Was there really no cure after all?**

Ophelia was silent, their gaze facing the floor. From under the mask, Chance could just barely hear them mumble under their breath,

“...Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be the first impossible thing you’ve done…”

They suddenly turned to look him dead in the eye. “Chance, I cannot help but feel as though I have made a new friend on this day!” Normally, Chance would’ve politely, but vehemently disagreed with this prospect, but seeing the fire in the shaman’s eyes, he found himself unable to argue.

The shaman took his hand in theirs and gave it a firm squeeze. Through the contact, Chance could feel the  _ hope _ in their soul, a small spark of a candle’s flame, but slowly growing into a grand bonfire. “Go defeat whatever monster struck you down, and then cleanse yourself of that accursed light. And know that I will be rooting for you every step of the way.”

They trailed off, pulling out Chance’s phone and rubbing its smooth, glossy surface with their thumb. “Well, that, and studying this neat little toy of yours~” they said, stroking it with their cheek.

Chance’s deadpan didn’t fade until long after he and Tusk had left the shaman’s lair, but he steeled himself. After all, they had a certain someone who needed to be knocked down several dozen pegs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Eruption by Van Halen (The instrumental song Chance's phone played on accident)  
Ophelia by The Band
> 
> It's apparently been about 28 days since our last upload, and this chapter is a little over 7k words. So much for "shorter and more frequent," I guess.  
Though, to be fair, this is one of the more important chapters, in which some concepts that'll have larger impacts later on are first introduced. I admit that the whole idea of using "truth" for healing was a spur-of-the-moment idea, but I think it worked out pretty nicely.  
A lot of this chapter was spur-of-the-moment ideas, but one that wasn't was the name Ophelia for the Snail Shaman. I *thought* that the Shaman was a female in-game, but according to the Hollow Knight Wikia, they're actually a hermaphrodite, probably leaning male due to a note hidden in the game's files referring to the Shaman as a "he". Despite this, we decided to keep the name Ophelia but refer to the Shaman as being of ambiguous gender.  
We're deeply sorry about the wait. *Hopefully,* the next chapter will be shorter and quicker. And we're expecting it will be. But until then, please leave a comment and we'll see you next chapter.


	7. The Pretender, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What if I say I will never surrender?”

Okay, so  _ maybe _ he had gotten a bit over-confident.

But could anyone really blame him? He’d just learned  _ magic _ . Real, legitimate, honest-to-god magic. And the knowledge that his soul was somehow special among the countless souls of Hallownest only helped to further inflate his ego. With this newfound power, something once thought exclusive to fairy tales and fiction, he could  _ heal himself _ . And also heal his  _ comrades _ . And…

...Yeah.

It was far too late to ask the shaman, Ophelia, about it, but one question that popped into Chance’s head while on the trek back to the False Knight’s chamber was whether the ‘uniqueness’ of his soul was exclusive to him, or just a human thing. He figured that for the time being, there wasn’t any real way of knowing, seeing as how he was the first human to set foot in Hallownest in… ever.

The route back to the False Knight was an unfortunate one. With the gates back into the arena shut firmly behind them, the only two ways to get back were either climbing up a tall shaft that even the acrobatic Tusk couldn’t find a foothold in, or walking  _ all the way back around _ in a giant circle. He should have been grateful that they found a way out at all; it was sheer, dumb luck that they found a weak section in the wall that, when broken, opened into the main shaft.

It took a solid fifteen minutes of scanning Cornifer’s map, fruitlessly scratching up smooth brick walls and cursing before Chance found himself on the long haul back the way they came. At the very least, the path was a familiar one; they even managed to get a few minutes in for another trip to the hot springs. It was certainly much more relaxing than the disparate rest he endured with Ophelia. If nothing else, it was much warmer.

But the relative relaxation meant nothing to Chance, not with his mind running at a mile a minute. The only thing he could focus on was the sheer  _ silence _ , weighing down on him with all the weight in the world.

He kept instinctively reaching down into his pocket, where his phone should be, only to tense up in a nervous frustration when he felt nothing there. He couldn’t even play any music to cushion the piercing emptiness of the caverns as they marched on. It was driving him crazy, how nervous he was, and how he couldn’t even do anything to help calm himself down, even if only for a moment.

It didn’t help in the slightest that he  _ also _ had left Iselda’s nail back with the Shaman on accident. In his rush to get away from Ophelia’s lair, it slipped his mind, and by the time he had realized as much, they were already at the bottom of the shaft. No going back for it now. He at least still kept his bag on him, but what help would it be now, since he could just heal himself without needing the jars of lifeblood stowed away inside?

Chance glanced down at his companion, walking alongside him. Tusk seemed as unfazed as always, their empty eyes staring dead ahead as they strolled along at a steady pace. He took a nervous breath; he couldn’t play any music, but maybe he could just…

_ “...Know it sounds funny, but I just can’t stand the pain~” _ he whispered. His voice was soft, and the echoes bouncing back at him along the cavern walls were even softer. Having tested the waters, he sang just a little louder.

_ “Girl, I’m leavin’ you tomorrow…” _

He kept clenching and unclenching the edge of his jacket, running his fingers across the cold, jagged zipper.

He shuddered.

_ “Seems to me, girl, you know I’ve done all I can…” _

If Tusk had noticed his shaky singing, they didn’t show it, still walking as straight and even as could be.

Chance let himself raise his voice just a little more.

_ “Y’see, I’ve begged, stole, and I borrowed~” _

He took a breath, and broke out into a full song, turning to face Tusk as he dramatically chanted a joyous chorus.

_ “That’s why I’m ea-sy~!” _

Chance skipped a little, almost starting to feel his nerves calm down a little. He heard the echoes of his singing ricochet off the cave walls and down into the inky-black reaches of the tunnel beyond.

_ “I’m easy like a Sunday mor-nin’~!” _ He bellowed, singing as loud as he could manage. Even the stoic Tusk could no longer ignore the sheer volume of the noise, compounded by the seemingly endless echoes that followed it, and paused. They turned to look up at Chance with their empty, emotionless eyes, devoid of expression.

_ “It’s why… I’m easy…” _ Chance felt his confidence waver and crash when he looked back down at Tusk. There was no emotion, no joy to be found in those black holes they called eyes. Despite that, Chance could almost feel the judgement oozing out of their sockets as they stared up at him.

Chance’s theatrical pose tensed, and slowly fell. The warmth that he had just barely began to grasp faded all too quickly, and suddenly the caverns deep underneath Hallownest felt far too cold for him. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, averting his gaze from Tusk’s silent stare.

It was hard to calm down with a sing-along when your only companion never made a sound.

_ “...esy lk a sndy mrnin’...” _ Chance barely mumbled, as the duo continued their journey.

* * *

If there was one nice thing about having to go over the same trail once again, they didn’t need to worry about the bugs they had already slain. Their corpses were still on the ground, and had long since stopped leaking their orange pus. Chance still couldn’t help but be disturbed at the sight, however, as he cautiously stepped over the husks, half expecting them to lunge up and grab his leg.

It was a metaphorical cakewalk compared to their previous stint throughout the caverns. In truth, they found their way back to the same ruins the False Knight occupied in record time. Probably. It wasn’t like he had any way of checking with his phone gone.

Chance could still remember fighting every corpse they passed, including the boulder of a bug. He couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of it; the damn thing had unknowingly tricked him into thinking that  _ it _ was the False Knight, not the behemoth in the room beyond. A False False Knight. The two silently walked past the corpse, back into the False Knight’s domain proper.

Chance was no architect, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around the layout of the False Knight’s lair. A massive, circular room, but they fought their opponent in the smaller room  _ above _ this otherwise perfect arena. Well, perfect aside from some rubble that was scattered across the floor. Strange. Didn’t he remember this place being completely empty when they first entered?

Well, he  _ did _ injure his leg from a falling rock. He glanced up; a spiderweb of cracks ran along the masonry. Even after all this time; all the decay, ruination, desecration of time on this structure, it still held up very well for years, maybe even decades. And now, the mammoth form of the False Knight was causing it to tear at the seams, struggling to withstand its sheer force.

It was impressive it was still standing at all, though even with its formidable strength, it likely wouldn’t last much longer against that sort of punishment.

Chance blinked, studying the ceiling more closely. They were only cracks in the dull grey stonework, but to Chance it was suddenly as interesting as the elegant ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The False Knight was a very heavy creature, and this ceiling definitely couldn’t hold its weight much longer.

What if he just… y’know…?

The clatter of falling pebbles made him look over, and he saw Tusk already climbing up the path to the room above. With one final glance to the cracked ceiling, Chance ran to catch up, steeling himself for battle as best as he could as he clambered up to follow his companion.

* * *

Once again, they found themselves in the open doorway into the False Knight’s little arena. Aside from the small fractures and cracks lining the center of the space, it was as if there had never been a near-lethal fight here. Looking back over the arena with fresh eyes, it was clear that it served as a trap, or some kind of choke point.

It made Chance wonder if it was actually being  _ used _ in such a way intentionally, or if the False Knight’s chosen battleground just happened to have been set up this way. It was easy to mark up the armored behemoth as the “all brawn no brains” type, but he couldn’t say for certain. With armor and a mace that big, anyone’s fighting style would turn into a mindless rage, drunk on the sheer force and power the suit possessed.

He glanced nervously around the empty room. The very empty room, in fact; the abundance of enemies that had been in this room before were now absent, even their corpses missing. Much to his horror, he noticed that the hole in the wall they had fled out of previously was now firmy patched up with what seemed to be scrap metal. The False Knight was obviously waiting for them. There would be no escape this time.

If they stepped inside, they’d be trapped until either it died, or they did.

Chance quickly licked his dry chaps. How should they approach this? What should his first move be? His gaze fell to a fist-sized chunk of rubble at his feet. Assuming the False Knight did a sweep of this room after they fled, it must’ve missed this bit, as the rest of the room was nearly spotless.

He picked up the modest chunk of ruined masonry, feeling its weight. Tusk looked up from his right side, curious to his actions. He cocked his arm back, then tossed the chunk into the arena. It made it to about two-thirds of the room's length, before losing momentum and falling to the floor with an echoing clunk.

A few seconds passed as the echoes faded into silence. Nothing.

Chance expected as much, but didn’t let himself relax. The False Knight was still here, ready to ambush them at any moment, he  _ knew _ it.

“Tusk, listen to me,” he began, kneeling down to the small bug’s eye level, “I’m going to run to the other side of the room. You stay on this side.” His hope was that if the False Knight dropped down on them like last time, it would be forced to focus on one of them, allowing the other an opening to attack. Divide and conquer. Tusk nodded; good enough.

Chance backed up slightly, knees bent. A burst of power, and he was off sprinting across the room as fast as his feet could carry him. And a good thing, too, as a large, bulky mass fell just behind him, missing him only by a few feet. The trembles borne by the False Knight’s explosive entrance caused Chance to stumble, nearly sending him falling onto the ground. He kept his balance, though, narrowly missing a slam of the mace sent his way by the False Knight.

Tusk immediately exploded into action, and as they did, the gates slid shut behind them.

It had begun.

The False Knight noticed the smaller bug dashing up to them, and remembering their previous fight, must’ve deemed Chance to be the lesser threat as they focused on Tusk. They blocked a strike from Tusk’s nail using the handle of their mace, before swinging it over their head to crush Tusk. The small bug, however, was quick, and darted to the False Knight’s side, where they landed a heavy blow to their side.

Or at least, it  _ sounded _ like a heavy blow. The clang of metal reverberated through Chance’s eardrums, but there wasn’t any noticeable damage on the False Knight’s armor. It was hard to tell, but he couldn’t even see a small dent.

Chance watched helplessly as Tusk danced around the massive False Knight, landing almost every strike but never dealing any actual damage. Was their armor so strong that even Tusk’s impressive swordsmanship (nailsmanship? nails _ bug _ ship??)) couldn’t even leave the smallest of scratches.

Chance clenched his fists and steeled himself. If just beating the hell out of the guy wouldn’t work, they’d have to try something different.

He sprinted up to the False Knight while their back was turned, exchanging more blows with Tusk, when he bent his knees, and using the force of his momentum-!

_ Clunk! _

A silence fell over the room as the False Knight turned around, staring at the small human rolling on the ground, clutching his foot in agony.

“Sssshhhhhhit, dammit, dammit, gaaaaawwwffff _ fuck- _ ” Chance seethed silently, something in the back of his mind still telling him to be careful not to teach Tusk any new choice words.

Suddenly, the pain in his stubbed toe meant nothing compared to the cold chill that washed over his skin when he felt a massive hand clench the back of his jacket, and the False Knight lifted him up into the air like a ragdoll. The behemoth held him up high, face-to-visor, while holding off Tusk with their foot. Chance gulped as he stared into the dark eyes of the False Knight’s visor, empty and devoid of emotion, nothing but an intent to kill lurking in the darkness. The two pronged horns that jutted above the mask didn’t help.

_ And yet, they’re still not quite as empty as the little one’s eyes, _ something whispered in his mind.

Chance felt his body quake with terror as he saw the False Knight raise up its massive mace, ready to smash him to gory bits like a baseball bat connecting with an apple. The knight tightened its grip, and with a heavy swing-

A dull thunk filled the room.

The False Knight dropped Chance in a panic, who stumbled to the floor as he hit the ground. But he smiled as the massive knight clawed at its face in a panic, trying to grip the rock shoved into its visor with its mitten-like gauntlets.

“I…” he took a heavy breath, still reeling from his near-death experience. While the False Knight flayed about, Tusk ran over and helped him to his feet. “I picked up that rock I threw earlier… again…” He fought back the urge to vomit. He hadn’t even known what he wouldn’ve used it for at the time, but seeing as it had just saved him from being pulp splattered on the wall, he was damn glad that he did.

Now that he was up, Tusk charged the False Knight, who in its panic, shakily gripped its mace and swung it wildly in all directions. Chance ducked his head and scrambled away as the mace collided with the walls with thunderous thuds, cracks growing all along the arena’s walls, stretching up towards the ceiling.

A rock fell to the floor next to Chance, almost giving him a heart attack as he clumsily rushed to his feet and ran randomly around the room, trying to survive the falling rocks. He had gotten lucky with a leg injury last time, he doubted he’d be able to ‘focus’ with a flattened skull.

_ This won’t work, _ Chance realized with dawning horror.  _ The ceiling will collapse onto us before the floor gives out. _

“TUSK!” he screamed in desperation. The smaller bug, who had been weaving around the falling rocks, noticed his distress and ran over. But his scream also caught the attention of the False Knight, who, even with their vision obstructed, could still hear where the scream came from.

Tusk reached him first, however, but didn’t slow down as they got closer. Chance was confused for a moment, before lurching backwards as he felt Tusk jump up and  _ kick off of his chest _ , shooting up towards the False Knight.

Chance hit the floor dazed, but just when he collapsed to the ground, he was blinded by moonlight.

An explosion of pale light erupted out of Tusk’s form, several times larger than the bug itself, and the chaotic white energy flew outwards and crashed into the False Knight’s face at point blank range.

Chance’s breath stifled as he watched the monolith, the massive behemoth, fall backwards and collapse into the stone-brick floor with a colossal thud. Its helmet split in two from the impact, almost like it was a pair of hinged doors. Having opened down the middle, a round, doughy face popped out of the opened mask, seemingly far too large to have ever fit inside that helmet in the first place.

Chance stopped for a second, staring at it incredulously. While the face still bore those dull, evil eyes, the rest of it was frankly pathetic. Besides looking more like an overstuffed dumpling than a proper head, it bore no discernable features save for two small bumps on the top of its head, a miniscule mouth, and the albino flab it possessed.

The laughable true form of their enemy made Chance’s mind stutter for a moment, but he re-focused himself quickly. As long as they still had that massive suit and mace, the fight wasn’t over. Tusk, ever one to jump to action, rushed over to slash the bulbous face to shreds. Globs of infection bled from the cuts inflicted, but all the blubber seemed to be a bit thicker than it appeared, as the Knight wasn’t able to inflict anything more than a few superficial wounds.

While Tusk relentlessly slashed up the False Knight’s unarmored face, Chance glanced around, his mind spinning. He noticed the knight’s giant mace lying on the ground, having been dropped out of the knight’s reach. Disarming it would definitely help, right? He ran over and grabbed the handle, giving it a mighty heave.

And another.

And… it wouldn’t budge.

He hadn’t gotten a clear look at the mace, but at such a close range, it was obviously far taller than him, not to mention the spiked, steel ball at the end. It was  _ unfathomably _ heavy. He put his full might behind it, putting his back into it, feeling his muscles burn, but it would barely move an inch.

He readjusted his grip to try again, when he felt the handle twitch. Chance froze. Another twitch ran through the mace’s handle. But it wasn’t the handle making the motion. Chance put a foot onto the head of the mace, and felt it jerk heavily under the sole of his shoe. The head shifted under his foot, unfurling into a very large, very angry, sphere-shaped bug.

_ I-It’s  _ _ alive?! _ _ The head of the mace is alive?! _

While Chance was still reeling from this discovery, the bug curled back up into a ball, shuddering violently. Still attached to the mace, it spun forward, pushing back against the handle. Chance jerked his foot away to avoid it being crushed as the blasted thing started to pick up speed, the friction of its body against the stone floor forcing Chance backwards.

While Chance fought their new foe, the False Knight suddenly reared back onto its (stubby) legs. With that, the head was immediately concealed by the helmet again, slamming shut like a windowpane. It reached down to pick up its mace, only to find the head spinning about, and a human clinging to the handle for dear life. Mumbling something that didn’t sound pleasant at all, the False Knight turned back to Tusk, who had been trying to stab through its armor.

Tusk, emboldened by the False Knight’s lack of weapon, dashed forward, nail poised for its visor. What they failed to take into account was the backhand the False Knight shot their way. It squarely caught Tusk’s entire body, hurtling them into the back wall at brutal speeds. A gut-wrenching  _ crack _ came from Tusk’s mangled body on impact, dark matter trickling out of several new cracks in their mask.

_ “T-TUSK!” _ Chance cried, feeling tears of desperation welling up in his eyes.

The False Knight turned its dark gaze onto Chance, who was still pushing back against the mace-bug. It had his back pressed against a wall now, and was only gaining in speed, kicking up a small cloud of dust behind it. If it got any more powerful, his grip on the mace’s handle might slip. The tip of the mace’s handle wasn’t at all sharp, but with this much force behind it, pointed straight at his gut…

Chance was a cornered wild animal, a deer stuck in headlights, as the giant, thunderous form of the False Knight stormed over in his direction. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t even move. The False Knight was insanely strong, but all it’d need to do is just give the mace a little push, and it’d all be over.

The sweat on his palms glistened, and his hands slipped an inch. Chance quickly threw a hand onto the bottom of the mace, pushing back as hard as he could. The slip had pushed the handle upwards, now mere inches away from his throat.

The False Knight stopped, standing just in front of Chance. Its form towered above him, a mountain of metal and sheer strength, all of it poised to crush him flat.

It raised a massive arm, clenched its fists together, and time seemed to slow as it came swinging down, an avalanche of destructive power, collapsing down into him with nowhere to run.

And Chance grabbed the end of the mace, and  _ twisted _ it.

The mace-bug, not expecting such a motion, could hardly resist as it was thrown on its side, and with it, the rotational force of the mace’s handle went sideways, too.

And by now, that bug had been building up a  _ lot _ of speed.

Just before the False Knight’s fist came crashing into his face, Chance  _ flew _ out from under him, grabbing onto the very end of the mace’s handle for dear life as he zoomed in a great arc around the False Knight’s flank. He didn’t even have time to scream before it came to a screeching halt all too soon, the handle of the mace slamming into the False Knight’s side with tremendous force. Chance’s grip finally gave as he went soaring through the air and crashed painfully into a wall, grimacing and crying out in agony as he felt his ribs crack from the impact. Just to rub salt in his wounds, gravity then took hold of him as he fell to the stone floor with a dull, painful thud.

Wearily glancing up from the masonry, he could see through blurry eyes the False Knight staggering around, taking a few wobbly steps. However, the crater left in their armor was deep enough that it sent them off-balance, and it wasn’t long before the monster finally tumbled and thunderously crashed into the floor.

Heavy cracks grew outward from where it landed, and the floor shattered like glass.

Chance’s eyes widened and he screamed as gravity pulled him down yet again, feeling his gut lurch as he fell down, down, into the pit below, knowing there would be nothing below to cushion him. He took in as much breath as he could force his terrified lungs to. This was the end. He’d smash his head on the rock, or be impaled by the rubble, or-

_ KRAAASH! _

He felt his back explode in pain and his lungs be forced free of air when he finally hit the ground, before everything went hazy. Somehow, through sheer adrenaline, he barely grasped onto the seams of consciousness as he started heaving, desperately gasping for air. He could barely think, his head was pounding so loudly.

He twitched his hand around and found he landed on something not at all soft, but surprisingly smooth. He tried to crawl away, but his legs refused to obey him. He couldn’t force them to move in the same way he could his arms. Glancing down, he didn’t see anything blatantly wrong with them; no giant boulder crushing them, no blood, no bone sticking out from his skin. There was only one conclusion his scattered and weary mind could come to.

_ I… paralyzed… _ Chance thought, bringing a hand to his sweaty brow as though it would help silence the deafening pounding in his skull.  _ I’m… paralyzed from the waist down, at least… _ While he had somehow managed to shed minimal blood, he had more than a few cracked and broken bones, presumably a spinal injury, and apparently he’d be wheelchair-bound the rest of his life, now.

Wait. No. No, he wouldn’t. He hovered a shaky hand over his abdomen, and wisps of pale light danced around his fingertips. He was perfectly fine. Peak condition. His ribcage was untouched, and his back was fine. He wasn’t paralyzed. He could walk just fine. He’d be just fine.

Slowly, he felt the bones fuse back together as he groaned and seethed in pain. He was perfectly alright, despite the agony. Feeling began to return to his numbed legs as he twitched them, rotating his ankles to make sure they really  _ were _ just fine.

And of course they were. He said as much, didn’t he?

With a strained groan, the cool light dissipated from his body and he managed to pull himself up to a sitting position. Looking back, he felt his chest clench up.

He had, miraculously, landed  _ on top _ of the False Knight’s chest, and while it certainly wasn’t a viable cushion, it had made his fall just barely survivable. The front of the armor was deeply dented in his image, like a metallic snow angel. Lovely.

A subtle movement of rubble. Chance’s hazy mind instantly snapped into focus.

“T-Tusk!” he called, hopping over the False Knight’s body as he ran over to his companion. They were in serious condition; their mask was on the verge of splitting in two, and the dark chitin on the rest of their body was cracked and leaking that ominous black fluid. Tusk was likely on their last leg of survival, barely able to think, just as he had been not moments before.

But he turned out fine, right? And so would Tusk. Tusk was okay. Nothing was wrong. Their injuries were healed. They’d be fine. They’d both be fine.

Chance nearly collapsed in relief as the cracks along Tusk’s body began to seal themselves up. He embraced them deeply, feeling his mind start to calm down as finally,  _ finally _ , they were both safe and alright.

To think he had almost lost them. Chance hugged Tusk just a little bit tighter.

_ SPLAT! _

Both Human and Bug jumped at the noise interrupting their moment. Chance, in a knee-jerk reaction, stood up and turned around, still holding Tusk in a vice grip.

A few seconds passed before he realized he was still carrying the tiny bug.

“O-Oh, sorry, I’ll set you-”

Tusk reached up and gripped his jacket sleeve. Chance blinked.

“Y… You… You want me to keep holding you?”

Tusk nodded.

“Uhm… Okay.”

Still keeping the bug bundled up in his arms, Chance cautiously traversed the large pile of rubble, watching his footing to make sure he didn’t trip on the jagged and uneven ground. Stepping close to the False Knight’s body, he tensed up at what he saw. A boulder must’ve dislodged itself from the ceiling just moments before and fallen down, because the False Knight’s entire bulbous head had been smashed flat under the giant rock. Orange infected pus seeped out from underneath the rock, staining the floor in violent tangerine.

Chance grimaced at the sight. He was about to back away, when something glinted in the corner of his eye. Crouching down slowly, as though not to lose his balance, he reached down and grabbed something partially hidden underneath the boulder, its edges slick with the orange blood. Picking it up, he noticed it was attached to a string that was wrapped around the False Knight’s (former) neck. With a gentle tug, it snapped and came loose, the string falling through the hole in the object as he lifted it up.

It was a key.

Granted, it was unlike any key he had ever seen, intricately designed, made up of very thick metal that weighed down in his palm, but it was undoubtedly a key of some kind. He gingerly tucked the object away inside his jacket, sighing as he looked down at the mountainous body one last time.

He didn’t know what this key led to, but he’d find out. And slowly, but surely, he’d work his way deeper and deeper into the heart of Hallownest, fighting enemies far stronger than this False Knight. He’d get beaten and broken, but he’d heal. And he’d go right on marching ever deeper in a single minded goal.

And in this moment, Chance had decided his fate. He would fight his way through Hallownest, no matter what hellish monsters this cursed and dead kingdom threw his way.

His bones were fine. His companion, Tusk, was fine. He was fine. And he would find a cure to the blasted Infection.

And that was the truth.

With this dedication steeled into his mind, Chance turned on his heel to walk away from the scene of the battle, tiny comrade in his arms, ready to face the next challenge Hallownest had in store for him and Tusk.

* * *

_ “My head keeps, spinnin’, _

_ I go to sleep, I keep, grinnin’, _

_ If this is just the be-ginnin’’, _

_ My life is gonna be, _

_ Be-yoo-tee-ful!” _

“WILL YOU SILENCE THAT INFERNAL RACKET?!” Ophelia screamed as they smashed a lantern with their staff like a baseball bat, sending it flying halfway across the bone-ridden cavern before bouncing to a stop next to the small, black object lying on the seat of a metal bench.

_ “I’ve sunshine enough to spread, _

_ It’s just like the feller said!” _

Ophelia seethed in rage, gripping their staff in a vice that threatened to snap it. “Oh, just you  _ wait _ until he returns,” they spoke venomously. “ _ He’ll _ know how to shut you up, I’m sure. You cannot lay in wait within that device forever,  _ demon _ .”

_ “Tell me quick, _

_ Ain’t that a kick, _

_ In the heaaaad?" _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to The Pretender by Foo Fighters. (again)  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Easy by Commodores  
Ain't That A Kick In The Head by Dean Martin
> 
> I think we got this chapter out a bit faster than the last one, right?
> 
> It was an interesting process to re-imagine the False Knight battle in such a way so that it wasn't just a boring, predictable novelization of what happened in-game. The whole "spinning mace" thing was a weird idea that popped into my head but overall, it seems to have come out fairly well.
> 
> Hahaha, poor Ophelia, not knowing how to work a phone and then blaming it on evil spirits like the crazy hermit they are. Hahaha. Haha. Ha. Haaa....
> 
> Please leave a comment, and we'll see you next chapter! :)


	8. Just What I Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t mind you hanging out, and talking in your sleep.”

“Wh- No, I am not _ destroying _ my phone, Ophelia.”

Chance, against his better judgement, was back at the Shaman’s mound. After carrying the no-doubt exhausted Tusk like a baby all the way there(they were strangely light, so it didn't bother him too much), he had deposited the small bug down onto the bench where they could get some proper rest.

If Chance had his way, he’d never have to come back to this weird place again. But he had left a few items here that needed retrieving before he and Tusk continued on their journey. He’d left his phone here intentionally, but had also stupidly misplaced Iselda’s nail here. It was a miracle that he managed to survive the battle with the False Knight without it.

He had gotten Iselda’s(it felt disrespectful to refer to it as his own, especially after he forgot it here so carelessly) nail back easily enough.

His phone didn’t go so easily.

“You don’t understand! Your little box is _ cursed! _” Ophelia shrieked, “It must be destroyed! It’s dangerous!” 

Chance would have facepalmed, but doing so would only have aggravated the already irate shaman. They hadn’t broken his phone yet, but he was sure Ophelia was on the precipice of doing it regardless of his feelings.

“And what makes you say that?”

“It… _ does _ things on its own! I cannot control it! Spirits from within scream at me endlessly for blood!”

“When I came in here, I heard music playing from it. Are you sure you didn’t accidentally play something and didn’t know how to pause it?” More likely than not, Ophelia had just stumbled upon a metal song, or something similar.

Ophelia almost exploded at him, but bit their tongue, glancing away bashfully. It was understandable; the phone’s technology was alien enough to the shaman that a mistake like that would be easy to make. Chance sighed; it probably wasn’t a good idea to just leave it with Ophelia, who would obviously have no idea how to use it. And besides, he had held up his side of the bargain; kill the beast, False Knight, that gave them trouble, and he could get his phone back.

“Look, maybe if I get the time, I can come back and teach you properly how it works. It’s not that complicated once you learn how.”

“B-But-!” Ophelia stammered, struggling to vocalize the thoughts flying through their head at a mile a minute.

“It’s fine,” he stressed, “trust me. I know how my phone works, and I know it’s not ‘possessed by evil spirits’ or anything.”

Chance walked over to the bench, where Tusk had seemingly fallen asleep. Their eye-holes were still open, but their head was nodded over and they didn’t seem to be moving. He carefully wrapped his arms around them and lifted him up, starting to get accustomed to carrying the child-like warrior around.

He glanced back; the shaman was strangely silent, refusing to look at him as they held their staff close to them. One hand held his phone out to him.

“I… wish you good luck on your travels,” they mumbled.

Chance stared for a moment, before grinning. 

“Thanks. I’ll be sure to come back safely!” he said, and all too quickly, he had snatched the phone and left, leaving the shaman alone on their silent grounds again.

That “phone” was something otherworldly, that much was certain to them. The technology left even the Pale Wyrm’s bizarre machinations behind in the dust. Its inner functionality was far beyond their comprehension, and yet…

_ There’s definitely something off, _ Ophelia thought, unable to tear their eyes away from the place where Chance once stood. _ Something wrong. _

_ I know there is. _

_ Why won’t you believe me? _

* * *

“I don’t think this is the way back to Dirtmouth.”

Tusk had woken up from their nap not long ago, and since then had been nagging him endlessly, pulling him into a small cavern pathway they had walked past before. A sign stood in front of the entrance, but Chance couldn’t make out what it meant; the symbol upon the sign was completely alien, made up of odd shapes. Despite this, he decided to trust Tusk’s judgement in taking him here. Not that he had much of a choice anyway, with them grabbing onto the leg of his pants and dragging him along. 

The cave was a pretty short one, and with some very simple decoration. It had the same brick masonry the False Knight’s lair had, but there were no enemies, or anyone, in here. The only notable features Chance saw were the bench in the center of the room, and what looked like a… bell. A bell, on the far side of the cavern, amidst small piles of rubble.

Before Chance could ask anything, Tusk rushed forward and, drawing their nail, gave the bell a hard thwack.

_ Dingling~! _

“Uh… very pretty bell you found-” Chance cut himself off when he heard it. A heavy rumble, shaking the earth beneath them. And it was growing louder. Chance could feel his heart pounding as the thunderous quaking became deafening, and a massive form practically flew in out of nowhere.

Chance stumbled back in surprise, rubbing his eyes to do a double-take. The thing that had just appeared in front of them was _ huge _ , almost as big as the False Knight. It looked like some type of massive beetle, standing on six legs and with a large, dark shell. A large horn stood proud in the center of its head, almost as tall as Chance himself, with a second similar protrusion stemming from its back. Strangely, it had what looked like a large saddle strapped on alongside it, with two rows of seats to accommodate passengers, and its face… was that a _ beard? _

It gave a deep, guttural huff, and then spoke in an equally deep voice weary with age.

“Greetings, little one. I take it you would like to travel again?” The large creature looked down at Chance. “I see another is accompanying you. I extend my greetings to you as well, strange one.”

“U-Uh, hi.” Chance stammered.

The massive beetle chuckled. “Does my appearance intimidate you? Let it not. I mean only goodwill to you, and any others who travel along these stagways.”

Stagways? As in, stag beetles? ...Odd, but it made enough sense to him. “A-T-Th-Thank you,” Chance said. He still couldn’t help but be nervous, especially as Tusk hopped up onto the beetle without hesitation, settling themselves down comfortably in one of the seats.

The stag beetle regarded him. “Well? Are you not going to ride with the little one?”

Chance blinked himself out of his awed stupor, muttering apologies as he approached the stag beetle. He had no idea what he was doing, but assumed it would be similar to riding a horse, except he had never ridden a horse before, and even if he had, he wouldn’t remember it anyway. There was a small step on the beetle’s side to help passengers climb up and down, so he hesitantly placed a foot there as he tried to get up. Unconsciously, he reached a hand up for something to help pull himself up, and his fingers ran over the stag beetle’s chitin-

_ The bottomless width and breadth of a dark labyrinth the size of a kingdom. _

_ Mindless turns, guided only by instinct. _

_ A never-ending, day-and-night hustle of merchants and passengers, going to and fro. _

_ I’m lost. _

_ A forest of brilliant green. _

_ A city darkened by rain. _

_ I’m lost. _

_ A nest. _

_ Family. _

_ I’m lost. _

-yelped, and Chance flailed back in surprise, nearly falling backwards painfully into the brick floor before barely grasping onto the platform again, holding it tightly for dear life. The stag beetle and Tusk both looked back at him, concerned.

“Is everything quite alright?”

Chance’s mouth went dry as he gasped for breath, his tongue twitching to vocalize the one word blazing at the forefront of his mind.

“S-...Styx…”

The stag beetle, Styx, was silent, but his eyes grew wide with recognition. “That name… Strange one, how did you…?”

“I-I don’t know, I just…” So Ophelia’s strange spell worked beyond the two of them? Much to his surprise, Styx started laughing, a deep and raucous, yet warm laugh.

“You truly _ are _ strange, strange one! I don’t believe I’ve carried such an interesting passenger in many an age!”

_ All I did was find out your name, _ Chance thought, but accepted the compliment nevertheless as he finally managed to clamber up onto the stag’s back and sat down in the seat next to Tusk.

“And please,” he added, “My name is Chance.”

* * *

It was a good thing the seats on Styx’s back were as well-cushioned as they were. Otherwise, Chance didn’t believe he’d have ever survived the ride to Dirtmouth.

_ “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH-!” _

* * *

Iselda sat behind the counter, leaning most of her body against it, in her small shop near the town square of Dirtmouth. Idly, her fingers tapped against the surface in random and benign patterns, while she kept herself occupied with random thoughts buzzing about her head, going to and fro. They danced about, some fizzling out just as quickly as they had appeared; a few stayed longer, lingering, whispering small, inconsequential thoughts throughout. They, too, would die eventually. There was only so much one could think about while stuck in this desolate town, even for one such as herself.

There were thoughts she did keep coming back to, however. Her dear Corny, for example. He was an experienced traveller and explorer, but she couldn’t help but fret over his safety. He had often invited her to travel with him, but time and time again, she declined. She was a warrior, not an explorer, for the Pale Wyrm’s sake! And yet, maybe she _ should _ join him in one of his expeditions sometime. Though on the other hand, that would leave the other residents of the town without protection from what lurked beneath the depths. The thought of Elderbug, and a few new residents, falling prey to whatever crawled underground… it tightened her resolve to remain behind.

The other thought she kept returning to involved the two enigmatic residents of the town; Chance and the... small one. She knew Corny could handle himself, but those two? She couldn’t help but worry. The small bug may have fared well, but the ‘hughmann’? He practically radiated his inexperience. In truth, he reminded her of Cornifer; inquisitive, sensitive, a taste of adventure. But he was also clearly a sheltered one, it was easy enough to tell. This world preyed on the weak, and it was a small wonder he had survived this far. If he would survive further was up to fate, or chance. A fitting name, she supposed. Someone truly lucky, or cursed.

And yet he still went out into the unknown, into the long dead husk of the forgotten kingdom. Not out of want, but of necessity. She had, briefly, considered travelling with the two, but it was not her role in this fiasco. She had a community to protect, and in her inmost thoughts, he was a lost cause, though she still held a faint hope for his survival. If it had been left up to her, he would have remained up in the relative safety of Dirtmouth, where he could try to fight off the infection. But alas, it wasn’t her decision to make. If he was going to go on such a mission, she might as well support him.

Her antennae perked up slightly at the sound of several raps on the doorWere there even _ more _ new visitors in town? There were still plenty of homes left, and not enough residents.

“Come in.” She called. The door quickly opened as response.

It wasn’t a new batch of visitors, but rather, Chance and the small one. The small one, for its part, remained the same, uncaring shell as always, but Chance stood up, a bit more confidence in his posture, a bit stronger, not to mention a few new scars. At the very least, the spread of the infection throughout him hadn’t progressed much; the orange in his eyes seemed a bit brighter than she remembered, but it was hard to tell.

“Y-You’re back,” she said to the two. She couldn’t manage to say anything else, she was stunned nearly speechless.

Chance, seeing a familiar face, sighed, letting himself relax. _ There _ was that small alien she knew; it was good to see that the infected kingdom hadn’t hardened him beyond recognition. “We, uh, decided to come back here for a bit.”

“Taking a break from your adventure to say ‘hi?’” Iselda joked, before her voice took on a more serious tone. “Did you… find...?”

Chance’s tangerine eyes fell to the floor. “No,” he said solemnly. “But we’re making a little bit of progress. Again, we’re just taking a quick breather before we go back down.” 

Of course he couldn’t stay.

And yet, despite his situation, he still kept that gleam of hope somewhere in his orange eyes, hidden in his smile. Something about him just screamed _ “I’ll be fine!” _ and she believed it.

“So… I remember you saying this was a shop, right?”

Iselda blinked. “Y-yes, what about it?”

“I mean… are you open?” Chance asked sheepishly.

* * *

Their reunion with Iselda had been brief, but Chance was just glad to see a familiar face again. Tusk was a good companion, but their mute-ness sometimes left him wanting for an actual conversation. Hopefully, he wouldn’t start hearing voices in his head by the time they found a cure, or something.

** _If_ ** _ they found a cure, _ his thoughts betraying his optimism. Chance’s smile wavered as they stepped out of Iselda’s shop and waved their good-byes, but he forced that dark part of his mind down. They _ would _ find a cure. They _ had _ to.

Right?

Chance peeked into his bag to look at their purchases. It wasn’t much, honestly; there was a quill for updating their maps as they explored(Iselda explained that apparently, it never ran out of ink. If that was true, the price definitely should have been a lot higher), and he had bought another one of those ‘charm’ things. He pulled the latter out of the bag and studied it. What was this one called again? ‘Wayward Compass’, right?

Unlike the other charm they found in the Shaman’s mound, this one’s purpose was a bit benign. As Iselda had put it, “It will whisper your location on a map, so as long as you’re wearing it, you’ll never be lost.” Its appearance reminded him a bit of compass; eight silver separate spires pointing in the cardinal directions, underlaid by a dull red finish, not to mention a tad smaller than the Soul Catcher charm.

Curiously, he fastened the charm onto the strap of his bag slung over his shoulder. He didn’t feel any different, but maybe that wasn’t the point. He pulled out his map, unrolling it and scanning it for any-

...Huh. That was definitely his face there. Oversimplified, monochrome, bordering on cartoonish, but it was unmistakably him. Strangely enough, he could also see Tusk’s impression right next to his own. Did the charm intentionally track both of them, even if only he was wearing it? Either way, it could prove handy in case Tusk wandered off or-

As if on cue, Tusk’s face shifted along the map, heading deeper into the village. Chance’s head snapped up to see the little bug strolling aimlessly through the streets of Dirtmouth.

“H-Hey, wait up! You don’t even know where I live!”

* * *

Home, sweet home.

The closest he’d get to a home anytime soon, at least. It was exactly how he had left it: a giant mess. Granted, it was considerably cleaner than it had been when he’d moved in, but some messes were just too heavily laid-in to fully clean. It didn’t matter to him, anyhow. He came here to rest, and that’s what he was going to do. He’d clean the rest up later.

Tusk, on the other hand, kept glancing around his house, admiring every detail, like a distant cousin visiting for the first time in ages. They curiously grabbed at everything that wasn’t nailed down, but Chance noticed they were strangely gentle with what they touched, always making sure not to drop anything and to put it back when they were done. They did this with some small vases, portraits(none of them featuring anyone he knew), some books written in a language Chance couldn’t read, and so on. He never realized just how fully-furnished his house was before now; it had a weird way of feeling emptier than it was.

His bag was deposited to the side in the small entryway, all of their new purchases still tucked within. Despite everything that it had gone through, it was still in surprisingly good shape, as well as its contents. The glass bottles of life blood must have been shatterproof as well, or he was just stupidly lucky that they didn’t break.

While Chance was looking around himself for anything he might’ve missed that could come in handy on his journey, he felt a tugging on the leg of his pants. He glanced down to see Tusk holding a portrait that had been sitting on a wardrobe, of what appeared to be a small family of bugs. Chance studied the image, but couldn’t find anything that stood out to him.

“No, I don’t know these people.”

Tusk tilted their head curiously.

“Why’d I have it, well, it was here when I moved in. I guess the previous owners didn’t take much with them when they left.”

Tusk seemed to understand the answer and went to put the picture back, leaving Chance along for a little while longer. He couldn’t find anything useful-looking stashed away in the house, so he gave up on his search and went to his bedroom, collapsing on his back onto the sheets. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed in the world, but compared to roughing it in the caverns of Hallownest, it felt like he was laying on a cloud.

He blinked, feeling the surface of the bed with an open palm. That was weird. Didn’t he burn his old sheets?

His hand bumped into something that felt like paper. Glancing over, he saw there was a note lying on his bed, folded up and sitting atop the covers neatly. He sat up, propping himself up on his elbows, before snatching the note and unfolding it to give it a read-through.

...What the hell was he looking at?

Of _ course _ this world had a written language that was illegible to him. Come to think of it, it was practically a miracle that the spoken language was at least the same. But that wouldn’t help him decipher this note.

Or maybe it would. He could ask one of the locals to decipher it for him, and maybe someone might have the patience to teach him how to read and write in… Hallownest-ian? Hopefully, there wasn’t anything personal in this note. He didn’t need to make anything awkward with Dirtmouth’s sparse residents, seeing as how he’d never be able to avoid them.

There was the pitter-patter of footsteps like soft rainfall coming into his room, and he glanced over to see Tusk climbing up onto his bed. Chance scooched over to give them more room.

“What’s up?”, he asked. Tusk was holding a small book, which they held out for him to see. Chance reached out to take it out of their hands - carefully, he had no idea how old this thing was - and gave it a look over. The cover and spine were both bare aside from a solid red color that had faded over the years, but opening it up, he found it filled with drawings, likely once as colorful as a brilliant rainbow, but now faded into dull shadows of their past selves. Accompanying the images were text in the same language as the note he had just tried to read.

He closed the book up and handed it back to the bug. “No, Tusk, I can’t read this.”

Tusk looked down at the book in their hands, before glancing back up at Chance, tilting their head curiously.

God, this little thing was adorable.

“Like, I _ literally _ can’t read it. I don’t know how,” Chance explained. “It’s in a different language.” Tusk glanced down at the book again, flipping through some of the pages, before holding it out to Chance again. They were as mute as always, and their expression was unchanging, but something in their eyes seemed to make their message clear enough.

** _Try?_ **

Chance regarded Tusk for a moment, before slowly reaching out to take the book again, which was practically shoved into his arms. Opening it up again to the first page, he noticed that the pictures took up far more space on the pages than the next did. And while he didn’t understand the calligraphy of Hallownest’s written language, the text seemed clearer and more defined than the note he had just tried to read. It also seemed a lot simpler, somehow; maybe only a few short sentences a page.

Was… was this a children’s book?

Tusk was still staring at him expectantly as he flipped through more pages, seeing the same patterns throughout the entire book.

“D… Do you… Do you want me to read this to you?”

Tusk nodded. Chance grimaced down at the frustratingly unreadable text. If it was a children’s book, then even if he couldn’t read it, he could probably just… make something up? He could just go off of the pictures.

“...Alright. I’ll do what I can.”

Tusk flopped down next to him suddenly, making Chance jerk his arm away. Tusk only leaned into the side of his chest, snuggling close to him. Chance slowly brought his arm back down, wrapping it around Tusk’s body as they cuddled.

Heheh, ‘cuddlebug’.

Chance whipped out his phone and tapped around to a random song, something relaxing for him to read to. A soft piano echoed softly through the bedroom as Chance flipped to the first page and began reading.

_ “And, if the snow, buries my… my neighborhood…” _

“Long ago, there were five great heroes of the land. They were, erm, very loyal to the brilliant King, in all his, uh, brilliance.”

_ “And if… My parents are crying…” _

“The first one was, uh, Hair Lady. She wielded a great nail to strike down evil, and told fantastic tales of her adventures.”

Tusk buried their head just a little deeper into Chance.

_ “Then I'll dig a tunnel, from my window to yours…” _

“The next knight was, uhh… Let’s just make up a name for her, let’s call her Silver. Silver was a generous soul, but fierce, and a powerful fighter. She would protect a, uh, Holy Tree, with her formidable strength.

_ “Yeah, a tunnel... from my window to yours…” _

“The third knight was… I-Is that-...?!”

_ “You, climb out the chimney, and meet me in the middle…” _

Chance managed to refocus from his shock. “U-Uh, the third knight was the, uhm, the Metal… Mountain. Yeah, the Metal Mountain was a very, er, quiet being, and loved to make his friends laugh.” 

_ “The middle of the town…” _

Chance started to feel himself grow sleepy. “The, ah, fourth knight was, her name was R-Rose, right. She could, uh, split the Red Sea- green sea? Green sea, with her water powers, and was very kind to all who met her.

_ “And since, there’s no one else around…” _

Tusk probably dozed off at this point, but there was no real way to tell. “The fifth knight was, o-oh, uhm, he was the, er, Dung-Man. He was very loyal to the brilliant King, and was, uh, he was always followed by a very, er, _ problematic _ smell.”

_ “We let our hair grow long…” _

“Together the Five Great Knights protected the kingdom and, ah, saved the world. Hooray…”

Chance yawned, finally closing the book and feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

_ “And forget all we used to know~!” _

Chance couldn’t stay awake any longer, and felt his head nod forwards-

_ -into her white, fluffy chest. He felt the canoe rock under him as he struggled to get balanced again so that he could stand back up, but just as he tried to lift his head, a soft and fuzzy hand - it felt like a hand - rested on his head, holding him close. _

** _“Shhh…”_ ** _ she whispered soothingly. He couldn’t help but blush at the closeness, as well as his own clumsiness that had gotten him here, but felt himself calm down all the same. He let himself bury his face into her fluff; it carried the scent of sunflowers and tangerines. His arms, grappling the edges of the boat for stability, slowly moved up to wrap around her waist, holding her closer. Her hands ran through his hair, playing with it as her fingers danced over his scalp, petting him like a dog. _

** _“What you seek is yours for the taking…”_ ** _ she murmured softly, her voice resonant like an angel’s. _ ** _“You only need to find it… It is out there, you simply must search for it…”_ **

_ Chance’s eyes opened, but he didn’t move. What did she mean? He wasn’t seeking anything. Everything he wanted was right here, in his arms. _

** _“Find it… Now, go.”_ **

_ With that, she shoved him off of her. She was far stronger than she seemed on the surface; Chance fell backwards, tripping over a seat of the boat, and hitting the back of his head- _

-on the bed’s headboard.

Chance yelled, seething in pain as he clutched the back of his head. Not the best way to wake up in the morning. He doubled over, rolling off the side of the bed and hitting the floor with a thud. Tusk woke up and leapt to their feet, standing on top of the bed with their nail drawn, ready to fend off any intruders, before seeing Chance on the floor groaning. He suddenly jumped up to his feet as well, still holding his head but with a frenzied look in his orange eyes.

“Wegottagobackdown,” he said quickly, breathing heavily in between his feverish bursts of speech.. “Gottagobackdown, gottagobackdown, It’sdowntheresomewhereI_ know _it-”

He leaned up against a wall, clenching both of his hands behind his head, before spinning around to face Tusk. “It’s down there,” he said, no hint of calmness in his words, but at least he was speaking clearly now. “It’s down there, the cure, it’s gotta be down there somewhere, I can’t stop now, I have to keep- I _ have _ to keep going, I can’t stop, I gotta- I- I can’t stop now, I _ can’t _ stop, I-”

_ “Can’t stop, addicted to the shindig~!” _

Chance nearly leapt out of his skin at the voice. He didn’t even realize his phone was playing music, sitting on a small bedside table. He groaned and walked over, fumbling as he picked it up and paused the music. Before shoving it in his pocket, his eyes glanced across the screen, and his body tensed up.

“D-Dammit!” he exclaimed. “I left it playing all night, and it’s almost dead!” Sure enough, the battery icon was a firm red, the number beside it reading 7%. He’d have to figure out how to charge it. He’d _ have _ to; his entire life, his past, his memories, were all on this tiny device somewhere.

But he’d already made his decision. His future was more important than his past, at least for right now. Chance couldn’t contain a frustrated grunt, however, as he slid it into his pocket.

He turned to face Tusk.

“...Good morning to you, too.”

Tusk said nothing.

* * *

Preparations for a second trip into Hallownest’s depths were much simpler this time around. To start off, he removed the jars of lifeblood from his bag and set them on the counter. They weren’t entirely unscathed; some cracks had formed on them, doubtless from his fall, but they held. Why they didn’t shatter would remain a mystery, but it left him the luxury of not needing to clean the bag or find a new one. 

Now that he had learned focusing, the lifeblood had become pretty much obsolete. Its main draw, the near-instantaneous healing of wounds, was outclassed by his new technique in spades. No need to carry jars, and no worrying about running out of soul(right?), brought forth by mental focus.

Of course, it wouldn’t work if he couldn’t concentrate (or if he was unconscious), so he looked through to find which bottle was the least damaged, and stowed it away in his bag. He didn’t need to carry his entire supply, but just a single bottle wouldn’t hurt.

Better safe than sorry, after all.

Another matter he concerned himself with was the acquisition of clothing. His current pair was all sorts of dirty; slashed, ripped, stained, just to name a few issues. What was arguably worse was the fact that he didn’t have any other suitable replacements. He was in a world of bugs, many not even bothering with clothing, and the few that did stuck with loose cloaks. Besides, the proportions were all off. Unless he found a seamstress or something similar, he was stuck with what he had. If he couldn’t fix it, the next best thing would be to get something to put over them. A cloak like Tusk’s or Elderbug’s, perhaps.

Unfortunately, he had no such luck finding one. Well, he did find such a cloak, but it was much too large for him. Horizontally, not vertically. If he had to guess, its original owner was… very round, in a manner of speaking. So back to square one... 

No solutions came to mind, and no other articles of clothing could be found. He would have to rely on his own clothing, wouldn’t he? On the bright side, they’d probably hold up for a while still; industrial manufacturing of clothing did have its advantages. He’d make do for now.

The last, and most important preparation was simple in theory, but difficult in execution. Where to search next.

Chance had spent the past half hour updating their initial map to the best of his ability, but their next destination just refused to manifest. The gaps in his memory didn’t help, as well as never having used an ink and quill before. As a consequence, his cartography attempts turned out shaky and messy; every line was permanent, every mistake refusing to come out. It was somehow functional, but horrid to look at.

Tusk had watched from his side as he labored over the map. Occasionally, they would point out an area or exit Chance had forgotten, and in one instance, had snatched the quill from his hand to quickly scribble in two whole new sections; a large space under the lowest path, and a second, minor shaft to the right of the vertical section next to the stag station. (Tusk’s lines were far neater than his, of course.)

Even with the updates, the two of them were as stumped as they were beforehand. There were a few passages they hadn’t explored, so maybe they could poke around them? Elderbug and Iselda called the place the Forgotten Crossroads, right? Crossroad implied it was simply an intersection, or at the very least, a roadway between places.

And it certainly looked that way; there were just too many places they _ could _ look, but which one would yield results? Perhaps Elderbug knew of something? While the ink on the map dried, they might as well ask. Maybe they could ask Iselda as well; surely she knew something too.

Getting up from his seat by the table, Chance stretched slightly, his back popping a small bit. “I’m gonna take a walk and ask some of the others if they can help.This just isn’t clicking for me.”

Tusk nodded, understanding. They plucked the quill off the table and shifted the map over to them. Chance gave the bug a small, tired smile for a second before opening the door to Dirtmouth’s cold winds.

Chance pulled his scarf over his face, feeling his eyes tear up in the wild winds. Weather was weird as hell up here, in the sense that it rarely ever changed. There were no cozy summer nights, no dry winter afternoons, no rainy mornings in the spring or brisk evenings in autumn. The town of Dirtmouth, as well as its surroundings for as far as he could see, only ever had two states: windy, and more windy.

He squinted his eyes as he turned his gaze to the inky black sky, devoid of stars. Was it possible that this entire area was under some kind of a colossal ‘roof’? It was the only explanation he could think of for the lack of both stars _ and _ a day-night cycle. Maybe Hallownest was under a mountain.

Shaking his head, he started towards Iselda’s. But, just a few paces away from the door, a crash echoed out through the town.

Chance tensed up at the sudden sound, whipping his head back to look where the sound had come from. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the norm, but he could just barely see a soft, pale glow in one of the house’s windows. Was there someone else here? Or maybe that was Elderbug’s house.

_ Either way, that crash sounded bad, _ he thought to himself as he turned around and approached the house. _ Whoever’s in there, I’d better make sure they’re okay. _

He gave the door a gentle knock. There was only grumbling to be heard on the other side of the door, but the voice definitely didn’t sound like Elderbug’s. Chance timidly placed a hand on the door and pushed-

_ Dingalingaling~! _

The first sight that hit him was the small bug in the center of the room, even smaller than Tusk, trying to pick up and organize a box of various items and trinkets that had been strewn across the floor.

Also, holy shit, its eyes were twice the size of his fist.

“A-Ah!” the bug exclaimed at Chance’s appearance. “I’m sorry, we aren’t open at the moment. Could you come back in, say, about fifteen minutes?”

Oh. This wasn’t a house, it was a store.

“Uhm, do you need any help cleaning that up?” Chance asked politely, still hiding a good portion of his form behind the door.

“Nonsense!” the shopkeeper exclaimed. “What type of entrepreneur can’t handle their own wares? I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be just fine, thank you.” He shoved a few more items into a box, closing a lid on top of it.

Chance was silent for a moment, still standing halfway in the door frame. “Uh… If I may ask, who are you? I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new?”

“I’m Sly,” the bug answered simply, as he tucked away the last of his trinkets into the box and heaved it onto a nearby shelf. “If you don’t know me, then it’s _ you _ who is new here, friend. Usually, I live an uneventful life up here in Dirtmouth. I recently had a brief… excursion, into the ruins below, but I met a small knight down there who helped me come home. You must’ve arrived here somewhere in that time frame.”

Sly was awfully observant, it seemed. As for that small knight he mentioned… Hadn’t Tusk jumped down the well before he had?

“That… sounds about right to me,” Chance said. “My name’s Chance. It’s nice to meet you, Sly.”

“And as with you, friend. Now, do you happen to have any Geo on you?”

Chance’s small smile fell. Geo? Oh, right, shopkeep. “Uh… no?”

“Then what about that pouch on your hip there?”

Chance blinked, unsure what he meant, until he pawed around his hips. Lo and behold, there actually _ was _ a pouch there, attached to the waist of his pants. It looked identical to the Geo pouch Tusk had pulled in and out of some pocket dimension down in the Crossroads; was it somehow linked to him as well, now? 

Chance had _ several _ questions, but did not vocalize them.

He pulled it off his waist, weighing it in his hands. Six hundred and seventy-four Geo. Exactly. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it just _ felt _ like six hundred and seventy-four. The thought of the number felt almost intrusive, though, as if it were forced into his mind. 

“Well, have a look at my wares, why don’t you? If you're planning a trip below, I've several items that may improve your chance of survival.” That sounded promising. Chance glanced around at a display of items for sale that Sly had set up.

And of course, his enthusiasm dampened with every item in the list. A single rusty key, bent and warped beyond use. Two tiny charms. A literal rancid egg that made Chance want to vomit. The lantern looked handy, though. It had been pretty dark down in the depths below.

“Interested in the Lumafly Lantern, are you? I guarantee, that lantern will light your way through even the thickest darkness.”

“I’ll take it.”

“That’ll be eighteen hundred Geo, please.”

Chance nearly hit the floor. _ E-Eighteen hundred… _ That was more than double, almost _ triple, _ what he even had on him. He pursed his lips in resignation. He’d have to come back here for that once he had the money. Until then…

“A-Actually, I’ll take the, uh… what would you recommend?”

“How about the Gathering Swarm charm? I imagine you pass plenty of forgotten Geo while traipsing underground. With this charm, it will find its way to you, which you can then spend here. A mutually beneficial purchase for the both of us.”

Chance blinked. Now that did sound rather useful, even if Sly expected more business from him. “Y-Yes, please.”

“Three hundred Geo, please.” His wallet would take a blow, but it was a much more reasonable price than the lantern. Chance counted out the Geo and Sly placed the small charm in the palm of his hand.

It was about as large as the Traveler’s Compass, and showed a small, stylized fly hovering over a piece of geo, both a bright silver. A bronze shell acted as a background, giving it a segmented look.

“If you’re strapped for Geo for that Lumafly Lantern, I’m sure this will help you earn what you need.”

Chance gave the charm another look. He didn’t even have any idea what this thing actually _ did _; having ‘forgotten Geo find its way back to him’ was a pretty vague description, but he couldn’t muster the guts to ask for a refund. “T-Thank you?”

“You’re very welcome. Do come back when you find the time!”

“Right... I’ll be... seeing you around, then.” With that, Chance turned to leave. 

He was almost out the door before Sly said, “Stay safe out there.”

“R-Right,” he repeated, nodding quickly. With that, he stepped back onto the streets of Dirtmouth, charm still in his grip. He let out an involuntary shiver at the sudden shift of temperature; the wind chill was brutal, even with his (by Hallownest’s standards) heavy clothing. Did bugs feel the chill, actually? And if they did, was it painful? Were bugs even warm blooded, or blooded at all? Seeing how the denizens of the town dressed, they had to have some sort of cold resistance.

That was besides the point, though. Meeting Sly was good and all, but he still had an errand to run.

* * *

“Ah, so you have finally decided to say hello,” Elderbug said. He and Chance were seated on the metal bench, still under the streetlamp, “I presumed you had forgotten about me.”

“Well… we may have, just a little,” Chance responded, somewhat sheepishly. In truth, he and Tusk hadn’t even seen him since they got back, so he had just assumed he was elsewhere. “A lot has happened.”

“So I’ve heard from Iselda, but I wish to hear it from you.”

And so Chance explained. Their initial foray into the Crossroads, the ambush by the infected flies, the hot springs, their failed first fight against the False Knight, Ophelia, his focus, and finally, their victory over the wretched bug. Elderbug was quite the polite audience as well, occasionally nodding, interjecting a question every once in a while, and at the mention of his focus, politely asked for a demonstration. 

“Ah… I see,” he muttered, “You and the little ghost really have accomplished plenty. And in such a short time as well.”

“I guess you could say that…” Chance mumbled. The praise did make him a mite uncomfortable, though it may have been a bit justified.

“Nonsense, my boy!” The Elder heartily said, patting him on the back, “You’ve already survived more than most that venture down there.” 

“Thanks, I guess.” He idly kicked a loose rock, “But what about you? How has life been up in Dirtmouth?” While his own stories may have been a bit more… grandiose, hearing about the hum and bum life up here would surely be a nice distraction.

“It has certainly been much more lively,” Elderbug started, “But truthfully, I’ve enjoyed the company. It may not seem much to one as well traveled as himself, but to an old bug, it is a blessing.”

“I see… I think I get what you mean, actually,” Elderbug had been alone for who knows how long here. Iselda and Cornifer had arrived before Tusk and himself, but not by much, maybe a few months at most. Who knows how long Elderbug had been alone here, waiting silently for others. It was…a somber thought. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be alone here.”

Elderbug sighed, “Don’t. Some thoughts are best left in the past.”

“I guess…”

“Did you need something?” 

Chance sputtered, “Wha- No, no…” a look sent his way by him caused him to look down into his lap, “Yes.”

A gentle chuckle escaped Elderbug, “You younger folk, always the same. Ask away.”

“Well…” He took a breath, “Tusk and I may have run into a… dead end, with our exploration. I was wondering if you knew anywhere else we could look.”

“Hm… now that is quite a predicament.” a hand was brought to his mask, “I may know something…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, before he seemed to hit an idea.

“Before any of you showed up, travelers would occasionally pass through this town,” Elderbug explained. “While many would simply disappear, a few would come back up to Dirtmouth. Before them, I used to think the kingdom below was all dead cold rock, but I've since been told differently. They speak of startling variety in Hallownest's caverns, and a few have told me that just besides the Crossroads, there is an area full of leafy green plants. Perhaps you could look there next.”

Chance blinked, a smile coming across his face, “That’s great! Thank you!” Though his smile did slip a little, “How, uh, do we get there?”

“Now that is a good question,” Elderbug went silent for a moment, “...If my memory serves me correctly, there is an entrance to the area in the Great Shaft.”

That place… Yeah, that was going to be anything but fun.

“Thank you, Elderbug,” Chance said, standing up to make his way back to his(and now Tusk’s) house. “I mean it.”

“Always happy to help, Chance,” he paused for a moment, “And thanks for talking with me. Not many do.”

* * *

Chance and Tusk’s departure back into the depths of Hallownest went off with little fanfare. A few muted farewells from Iselda, a grunt from Sly, and a wave from Elderbug. It wasn’t much, but it was all the two needed. Or, what Chance needed. Tusk didn’t seem to care for the meager sendoff, or maybe they just had trouble emoting their thoughts on the matter. In the long run, it probably didn’t matter.

All of that out of the way, they quietly walked down the streets of Dirtmouth, back to the well. They stopped just short of the drop, gazing into the depths below.

“Back into the belly of the beast, eh?” Chance said, trying to break the silence. Tusk mutely noded, with the heavy weight of the silence draping over his shoulders yet again.

Back into the dead, decaying, infected, body of Hallownest. They had a new lead, but would it pan out in the end? And if not, then what? He wasn’t sure about Tusk, but something told him they would soldier on regardless. But himself? More likely than not relegated to a futile life up in Dirtmouth, waiting for the sickness in him to render him a husk of his former self? Put down like an animal? Killing someone before that happened?

...Perhaps it was best not to think about. The battle is first won in the mind, right?

Tusk made the first move, jumping fearlessly into the empty air. They quickly disappeared into the darkness, as if they had never stood beside him. As for him, the accursed chain. One of these days, he would need to figure out how the Knight could just shrug off such falls. Until then…

The blasted chain, and the depths below, awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Just What I Needed by The Cars.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Styx (artist)  
Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels) by Arcade Fire (A request by a reviewer on FFN)  
Can't Stop by Red Hot Chili Peppers
> 
> First off, about that song request: I'm not going to accept very many of these. I only did it this one time simply because I decided "Hey, why not, might make someone's day". I might do this a few more times in the future, but try to keep song requests to a minimum. Maybe it was a mistake to accept this one, I don't know. Just keep it cool, alright?
> 
> This chapter was fun as hell to write. It was good to take a break from the whole "gloomy wandering and battle" thing and have a more slice-of-life type chapter. We got this chapter done in what's probably record time, though editing took a few more days than planned.
> 
> That said, I think we may take a very very brief hiatus on this story, probably just for a week or two. Just for us to take a bit of time to catch up with real-life stuff, as well as work on some personal projects of ours.
> 
> Oh, and another thing: as a stupid little gimmick, I made a Spotify playlist of all the musical references we've used so far! The rules are simple; if I reference a song, I'll add that plus maybe any related tracks that are kinda cool. Albums will get 1-2 tracks, and artists will get 3-4. I styled it after Chance's playlist("Nice" with a screaming cat icon). It's a bit short now, but believe me when I say that it will grow much larger as the story goes on.
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4hwkWAmxCw92Kcq6TWVznh?si=yEpR6dvURcGOjBdZSk0fTw
> 
> Thank you for reading, please leave a comment and we'll see you next chapter~!


	9. Green River, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me remember things I love.”

“So, uh… who are your friends, Tusk?” 

They must’ve taken a wrong turn while trying to reach the area Elderbug was speaking of. Instead of lush vegetation greeting them, a large bug mound dominated the mammoth space. Unlike the Shaman’s, it was a bit smaller, and composed of dirt instead of bones, yet used structural supports to form a multitude of smaller, egg shaped homes. It was also littered with more holes than Swiss cheese.

Chance hadn’t seen any bugs like the inhabitants of this mound before. Three green caterpillars (or perhaps grubs?) stuck their heads out of the mound, far above them. One of them, an older looking grub whose maw gave the illusion of it having a greyed mustache, was cheerfully waving at Tusk, while the two younger grubs gave off little high pitched squeals of excitement.

Tusk, for their part, gave the grubs their signature blank stare. They didn’t even change their expression as a bit of Geo bounced off their mask, flung at them by the older grub. Both looked up to see more Geo be thrown down upon them. As they were showered in the small chunks of metal, Chance covering his head with his arms for protection, one small piece of it went flying into Tusk’s eyes… holes.

_ ...What the hell? _

Chance glanced up to see the elder grub stifling a laugh at the display, Tusk looking down at the floor as if only just registering that some metal flew inside of their skull. It even threw down an extra Geo plate to them. From what he understood, Geo came in multiple forms. Coins and plates were the only ones they had seen so far, but there probably were more out there. What Chance still couldn’t grasp was  _ why _ these things were throwing money at them. While the Geo thrown down so far wasn’t the largest amount in the world (Probably. Geo’s exchange rates were unknown to him), he supposed everything helped.

Despite the circumstances, he definitely wasn’t someone to turn down a gift. While he bent down to collect the fallen Geo, he could see Tusk now had a hand firmly jammed into one of their eye sockets, presumably rooting about for that piece of Geo. Chance shuddered at the sight. It… raised questions about Tusk’s biology, but it didn’t matter for right now. Though, what did they look like under that mask? Was the mask their face?

But regardless, they had been given money by a small group of grubs whom they had stumbled completely by chance. Life sure was odd at times. And he doubted he would be getting an answer to this for a while, if at all. 

Tusk finally withdrew their hand from the mask, clutching the bit of Geo. It was covered in a thin layer of an oily, tar like substance that absorbed the light around it. Literally speaking, as a small area around the coin was considerably darkened compared to the rest of the room. He almost felt compelled to touch it; it pulled him and everything around it inwards like a black hole. Almost.

As Tusk turned the Geo chunk around in their hands, however, one small thing stuck out from the strange vacuum around it. A small light hovered above the metal, flickering softly. Chance squinted his eyes and leaned forward to get a better look, and saw that the flickering was the flapping of tiny wings. It looked almost identical to the Lumaflies that were powering many of Hallownest’s light fixtures. But this one…

Suddenly, it lifted the Geo out of Tusk’s hand. The small knight jumped up, trying to catch it again, but the small fly avoided Tusk’s grasp with ease, darting around with surprising speed. Tusk stopped jumping just for a moment, and the small Lumafly-esque creature took the opportunity to fly right towards Chance.

“W-Uaahh!” Chance stumbled backwards as the bug zoomed closer, only to swerve away and land on the Geo bag fastened to his waist. It deposited the small Geo into the bag, before scrambling away inside the bag with it.

Chance nervously eyed the bag. What was that thing? Some kind of hoarder bug? Just as his fingers tentatively reached around the bag, however, he felt… itchy. His eyes widened with terror as he felt something - no,  _ many _ somethings, crawl along his skin, appearing out of nowhere under his shirt and climbing upwards along his arms. He could see them shuffling around under his clothes, all rushing towards the edge, seeping closer to the open air.

And they exploded free. Countless tiny Lumaflies shot forth from underneath his sleeves and out his wrists, from under the chest of his coat, rushing outwards like a geyser in a brilliant swarm of light. They spiraled around him, plucking the remaining Geo off of the ground and darting back towards his Geo pouch, slipping the metal bits inside before burying themselves inside of it as well. Tusk leapt around trying to grab the Lumaflies with their hands like a child trying to pop bubbles outside on a summer day.

Soon enough, the last of the Lumaflies had flown back into his Geo pouch, leavinig the room dim once more. Aside from some involuntary quakes of terror, Chance stood still as a statue for a minute afterwards, thoroughly petrified by the experience. After it passed, he reached down into his Geo pouch, prying it open and-

Nothing. Only four hundred and four Geo lay within, chinking about as he shuffled the bag. The Lumaflies had appeared out of thin air, gathered all the Geo in the room, brought it to him, and vanished.

_ Gathering Swarm _ .

As he stared down at his pouch in awe and fear, the pitter-patter of Tusk’s footsteps echoed through the cavern. Chance looked up to see the small knight having turned tail to where they had come from. They didn’t even glance back, just continuing on their way.

“H-hey, wait up!” he called, standing up to follow Tusk. He stopped mid-stride, however, and gave the grubs a wave, trying to force a smile despite being thoroughly shaken. “T-Thanks, guys!” They gave off several more happy squeaks as Chance rushed off to find where Tusk had wandered off to.

* * *

The next path down held a bit more promise. Unlike the previous, above entrance, it was surrounded by green plant life, a rare sight in these cavernous Crossroads; he almost felt bad about missing it twice while previously traversing the shaft. Not to mention how easy it was to get to as well; all it took was a few feats of acrobatics down the platforms to reach the opening into the area. As he was rapidly beginning to realize, they had skimmed over much during their first run through of the caverns. Though, to be fair, it was hard enough to find their way about with the scant light shrouding everything. Were it not for his phone and the occasional Lumafly lantern, it would be near impossible to make it through here in pitch darkness.

Quite suddenly, the cramped passage opened into a colossal space. It even put the great shaft they had just exited to shame. 

It was a ravine, that much was obvious. Foggy distance stretched nigh endlessly in both directions, shattered stone structures visible amongst the darkness. Far below them, a powerful stream roared, spraying water to and fro, while a rocky ceiling plagued with stalactites rose high above them. They themselves stood on a bridge that stretched to the other wall of the ravine.

The bridge, a stone brick one, was held up by pillars that stretched far below into the rushing waters of the ravine floor. For whatever reason, the bridge had an elevated section in the middle, steps up, and steps back down on the opposite side with seemingly no purpose. A few metal support columns stretched up from the elevated section, holding up a carved slab of masonry which presumably kept the ceiling supported. To the side, Lumafly lamps lit the whole bridge in an opulent glow. There were even some vines and bushes growing along the center of the bridge.

Truly, it was a sight for sore eyes. He could say with damn near certainty that he hadn’t seen anything resembling any shade of green since he had first arrived in Hallownest. The closest thing to green he’d seen was the seasoning on Iselda’s soup, and aside from it; gray and blue rock. Rock rock rock. Maybe a shrivelled flower or two, plus some dying grass, in Dirtmouth, but besides that, nothing. No floral life whatsoever. Just an ecosystem consisting of infection spewing zombies and carnivorous flies. It was depressing, but if these plants were here, maybe there was something hopeful beyond.

Chance walked to the nearest plant clump; a bush with several small, white berries sprouting from it. Crouching, he plucked one from its stem and rolled it between his fingers. Smooth, cold, firm, but with some soft yield. He didn’t plan on eating it, but holding such a delightfully organic object (That didn’t come from a screeching predator) was certainly a nice novelty. It felt strange, thinking of holding a plant as a luxury, but everything about this place had turned the concept of “strange” on its head.

Tusk studied his actions for a moment before joining him, themself plucking a leaf from the bush. While Chance was gentle with his berry, Tusk firmly ran a thumb over the frail leaf, creasing it and ripping a hole through it. They tilted their head, confused, as if to ask,  _ What’s the fun in this? _ , before shoving an entire hand into the bush. Chance couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow at the display.

He shrugged; to each their own, he supposed. Plants appealed to a more instinctual, primitive side of himself, and he guessed that even the ever-stoic Tusk was wired the same way. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be deprived of plants for your whole life, only to stumble into them by sheer chance. Standing back to his full height, he left Tusk to explore while he himself ventured a bit further. Specifically, to the prominent sign displayed near the elevated bit of the bridge. While the plants were a good sign they were on the right path, any more information would be very much appreciated…

...

...And he just remembered; he couldn’t read it. An ability he had taken for granted for as long as he could remember suddenly rendered useless. Blinded. It wasn’t the end of the world, but still, this illiteracy was starting to annoy him.

He wasn’t even sure if Tusk could read. And if they could, there wasn’t a way they could communicate its meaning… unless they could write as well. But that just complicated things further. They barely had enough room on paper for their map as it was.

He sat down on the step of the raised section, trying to gather his thoughts. Regardless of whether or not they were on the right track, they needed to push forward. And while the plants were a nice distraction, the two of them couldn’t stay forever. As such, he cast his gaze to the other end of the bridge, looking for a way forward. Thankfully, there was a tunnel , but it was partially blocked by a large, shelly boulder, very much out of place on the otherwise uncluttered bridge.

...Oh, no.

He was  _ not _ falling for that again. How did that phrase go? Fooled once, shame on you? Fooled twice, everybody dies? ...It didn’t matter. If it was actually a boulder; no harm, they could just squeeze past it. But if it was another one of those huge bugs.. they wouldn’t be caught off guard this time. Not again.

Either way, Tusk’s help would be needed, just in case. He turned back to where he had last seen them, only to find the bridge deserted. Gulping silently, he pulled out the map to spy Tusk’s location. Yeah… Tusk’s little head symbol was close to his own. 

“Tusk?” He experimentally called, slowly back away from the boulder. With hope, he wouldn’t wake whatever it may be.

A rustling nearby caught his attention, and a set of white, bony horns popping out of a bush, followed by the rest of Tusk tumbling out. A few leaves and twigs were stuck on their horns and cloak.

_ D’aww... _

Tusk quickly ran up to him, looking at him somehow disapprovingly. Chance almost felt bad about having spoiled their fun, but they needed to keep moving. And to keep moving, they needed to get past that boulder. He silently motioned Tusk to follow him, as he softly walked closer to it. Scooping a loose rock from the ground, he chucked it at the boulder. It bounced off and into the ravine with a haunting echo. Maybe a boulder could be just a boulder after all.

Relaxing, Chance stepped off of the elevated platform and onto the bridge below. They would just have to push-

The front part of the boulder suddenly opened into multiple segments, revealing a fleshy…  _ something, _ inside. (Were Chance’s memory still intact, he may have found it to resemble a giant Bakugan.) Before Chance could react, a thick, wet spit glob erupted out from the creature’s maw. He wasn’t sure what to expect from it trying to spit on them, but the crushing sensation of what felt like a cannonball smashing into his shoulder caught him off guard.

The boulder bounced off, thankfully, but the pain didn’t. He staggered backwards, tripping over the step and landing painfully on his back with a hard thud on the stone floor. His hand instinctively went to cradle the injured arm, his face grimacing as the soft glow around his fingers made what felt like a nasty bruise slowly fade away.

Tusk dashed up, leaping into the air above him. Chance was blinded as a massive eruption of energy shot forth, bathing the whole ravine with pale light. The strange, otherworldly projectile Tusk launched forth, whatever it was, smashed into the large boulder-like creature before them; the force from the explosion made the creature stagger off of the edge of the bridge and fall into the darkness.

Tusk, who had remained airborne for their attack, fell back to the ground with a soft pat. They turned to look at the startled Chance, their expression empty as always, but with a strangely smug air about them.

“Th-...” Chance stammered, still reeling. “That was… easy enough.”

* * *

The stark contrast between the Forgotten Crossroads and this new place took Chance’s breath away. Compared to the dead caverns of the Crossroads, this area was covered with lush green, plants of all kinds growing vibrantly as far as the eye could see.

Oh, and the acid as well. That was new.

It was a sickly green, rapidly bubbling, and horribly effective. He had chucked a small piece of plant into the mixture, only for it to hiss and fizzle at contact, quickly dissolving into nothing. Strangely, the acid didn’t smell as badly as Chance might’ve expected. It was some weird blend between soda and chlorine.

The fauna here caught his eye, too. Odd, bushlike beings which would scurry away and dive into the ground at the first sign of danger. Spindly creatures that hid in a plump ball of fur, an antennae-like strand stretching above them. Some had already succumbed to the infection; they would occasionally give off bursts of infected smog when threatened. Chance took extra caution to avoid the tangerine cloud; better safe than sorry.

The lime-green acid, which formed a lake below them, didn't help either. One wrong motion could mean a gruesome death. Chance morbidly wondered how quickly the acid might eat away at his flesh, and if he fell in, how long it would take for him to stop thinking.

As such, while Tusk jumped from the suspended platforms to solid ground with little difficulty, Chance took his time. He leapt to the next platform, only to spend several heart-stopping seconds righting himself, before preparing for the next jump.

The further they went in, the more the plant life dominated. Even the air itself grew warmer, though whether it was from the plants or the acid, he was unsure. Chance wiped his brow from the sheer humidity.

Nature was at work, and it was slowly consuming whatever had been built here previously. Vines and other plants wove and burst through the rough stone surfaces, while the acid only eroded the masonry further. Chance wasn’t even sure what the structures were for, but anything was better than the acid in his eyes.

He couldn’t help but take a second to take in the ambience all around him. Smell the roses.

Unlike the Crossroads, it felt  _ alive _ . Even the bubbling hiss of the acid gave off a life of its own. It was one thing to survive in the dull, grey back at the bridge; it was another to  _ live _ here, in this lush place that felt as though it had its own breath.

He turned back from the edge of the platform to catch up to Tusk, who was looking about the area as well. Little guy probably hadn’t seen so much vibrant life before, especially if nothing like this existed above ground. An image of the barren, windswept planes above them flashed across his mind. It was hard to believe anything but the hardiest of plant life could survive above ground.

What he really couldn’t grasp, though, was how the plants down here were growing without any sunlight. They must get their energy from some other source; maybe the acid itself?

Chance shook his head a bit. Another question for another day. For now though, they would need to explore further.

* * *

Before probing further, Tusk and Chance had taken the time to rest a bit. They had found an old and tarnished, but still comfy, bench in a spacious upper area, set up right next to a lumafly lantern. Somehow, impossibly, the plant life had completely taken over the space; not even rock was visible. If Chance had to guess, it had to do with the river running through the cavern, even if it  _ was _ acid. It started out seeping from multiple crevices torn out of the walls, forming several waterfalls which congregated into a solid stream. It roared downhill, passing on into the unknown. Luckily, they were far enough away to not be doused by the spray.

The white noise from it was quite nice; he could almost fall asleep here. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if he just… took a small… nap...

His head snapped back up from his chin dipping down. Cripes, it almost did knock him out. He must’ve been more tired than he thought. Tusk, who had been staring blankly at their map, jumped slightly at his movement.

“Oh, um… sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. Tusk, for their part, gave his thigh a silent pat. While Tusk did so, he caught a glimpse of the map.

“Why do you have that out?” It had just enough space for the Crossroads, nothing more; there was no way they could fit another section in. Tusk mimed scribbling on the edge of the map, on the section where they had just exited from. Oh.

“I don’t think it’s of any use to us,” he said. Tusk looked to him for a moment, then looked back down to the map again. Maybe when they got the chance, they could zip back up to Dirtmouth and ask for more paper.

Chance stretched out to the side, resting an arm on the bench and propping his chin up on it to keep him awake. He gazed absently over the scenery, torn between the livelihood of nature energizing him, and the soothing lullaby of running water tempting him with sleep. The most defining feature of this forest-like cavern may have been the abundant greenery, but nothing accented it quite like the  _ smell. _ The crisp air flowing over him was reminiscent of flowers and maple wood, with a caffinating twinge in the air from the acid. Even without any sunlight, if Chance closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself lying under the sun in a forest back home…

The home he couldn’t remember.

A chirp. Chance lazily glanced over to the side to see a bird that had landed in the grass, looking around erratically for predators. But this “bird” had the same skull-like mask that many others in Hallownest had, and its wings even matched the color of Tusk’s cloak. It hopped around in place for a minute before a bored Chance nudged his foot towards it, startling the poor bird into flying off.

A bird. It was unmistakably, absolutely,  _ definitely _ a bird. And yet, it wasn’t  _ his _ kind of “bird”. Birds from his home. His birds didn’t wear masks. But it was still a bird. Just not a bird he’d ever been familiar with.

...It was like a sickening joke. He couldn’t remember much about his home, but there were still traces of ideas lingering around in his subconscious mind, just enough for him to realize that this new place felt  _ wrong _ . He couldn’t remember what “home” felt like, only that it didn’t feel like Hallownest. If his memory had been completely wiped clean, maybe he could at least feel at ease here. But instead, his mind kept wandering back to how alien and otherworldly everything felt, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the faces of strangers kept on his phone. Faces he smiled with, faces he laughed with, faces he cried with. Faces he once treasured and loved. But there were no longer any names to tie to the faces, no people, no souls. Dead to him.

Everything he had ever known had been reduced to empty faces, and that  ** _terrified_ ** him.

Chance shifted on the bench, suddenly feeling uncomfortable on the iron seat. “We should keep moving,” he said to Tusk as he sat up straighter on the bench. He didn’t feel very sleepy anymore. Tusk tucked their map away and hopped down, also looking ready to go. Chance stuffed his hands firmly into his coat pockets, pursing his lips as he gave one last paranoid glance around the area.

Beautiful, but never  _ his _ beautiful.

* * *

Maybe he was being selfish.

“I mean,  _ look _ at this place!” exclaimed Chance in awe for what might’ve been the dozenth time since they arrived in this new area. “Even back at my home, we never had sights like this! All the dense greenery, and the, ahm…” He faltered. “And the acid, and…”

He bit his lip and shut himself up. Tusk didn’t seem to be paying him any mind, anyway. Not that he could blame them. 

Chance kicked a small, mossy rock aside as they traveled deeper into the natural wonderland, watching as it tumbled over the ledge and into the river of acid below, evaporating with a satisfying hiss. So  _ what _ if he was being selfish? This world had already put him through hell, and he got the feeling that it was only getting warmed up. He had  _ every right _ to be selfish. Besides, was it  _ really _ so much to want his memories and his home back?

...Actually, no. This place was awful. It only looked nice so you’d get close enough, then be eaten up by one of those giant snapper-plants that had nearly done him in earlier. Not to mention that all the green gave him a headache. The damn place didn’t even have any sunlight, and it still managed to be too bright for him.

What an  _ arrogant _ place, thinking it was so pretty and majestic when it was almost a single solid color. You know what color would make this place less of an eyesore?  _ Orange _ . Orange was a good color. Like tangerines, or mangoes, or fancy orange sports cars roaring down the highway that you couldn’t help but stare at even though you knew nothing about cars. Some orange sunrises or sunsets would’ve done this place some good too, but there wasn’t even a sun  _ to _ rise or set, so that was a crying shame but he’d have to make do.

He trudged through the grass, finding more and more reasons to dislike this place. Something brushed against his ankles, his gaze turning down to see a lone, pale flower. Good on it for trying something new, but it was still such a  _ boring _ color. What the hell kind of psycho would say that  _ white _ was their favorite color? The same kind of asshole to submit an empty canvas to an art competition and go on tirades about “the beauty of minimalism” or some stupid shit. Chance gave the flower a frustrated kick, dislodging some petals that fell into the grass, but the flower itself remained rooted into the dirt. Unsatisfied, Chance stomped on the flower, driving the heel of his shoes into the earth to grind it to biological paste.

“Stupid flower,” he grumbled. Who cared about bullshit  _ “cures” _ or fighting giant plant-bug-monsters? He only ended up hurting in the end. Here,  _ he _ was in control, and  _ he _ wouldn’t be the one hurting. He began stomping on the flower. Soon, that wasn’t enough for him as he fell to his knees and began tearing the flower apart with his bare hands, ripping up grass and coating his knuckles in dirt as he vented all his frustration to the earth, clenching his teeth and he tore up roots and handfuls of dirt, pounding the dirt futilely, screaming in a blind rage, tearing everything apart-

“By the gods, what are you doing?” 

The orange haze faded from his vision, Chance blinking it away as the burning inferno in his chest sputtered out. He glanced around, looking for the voice, when he looked up and saw a flash of red standing out from the greenery. On a high ledge stood someone new, donning a crimson poncho-like cloak and with a pale mask(?) showing off two tall horns. They seemed to be wielding a long sword-  _ nail _ , sorry; but the shape was strange, unlike any other nail Chance had seen thus far. The handle was awkwardly long, and there was a… ringed piece at the end?

Their mask had the same two dark eyes as Tusk’s, but they seemed more  _ full _ , and they were staring down at him with contempt and bewilderment.

Chance looked back down at his hands. They were covered in mud, dirt having seeped up into his fingernails, and the scattered remains of a poor, inoffensive flower, its petals once white as snow, now torn to shreds. 

He heard a pitter-patter of feet, and Chance’s head whipped up to see Tusk sprinting towards the ledge, making a mighty leap up towards the figure, who merely hopped out of sight with a soft  _ “hmph!” _ . Tusk reached out for the ledge, but even with their superhuman jumping ability, they still came just a few inches short of the ledge and instead fell down into the pit below.

Chance quickly regained his composure as he sprang to action, running over to the ledge and looking down for any signs of his companion. Thankfully, they seemed just fine, standing at the bottom of the ravine looking unharmed; unfazed, even.

Chance gave a sigh of relief. “Are you just, like,  _ immune _ to heights or something?” Tusk merely lifted their arms in a shrug, and Chance couldn’t help but smile down at the small bug.

The question was, how was  _ he _ going to get down there…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Green River by Creedence Clearwater Revival.
> 
> I'll admit that this chapter was a struggle. The reason this relatively short chapter took so long was because I kept having on and off bouts of depressive writer's block, where I've been unable to get myself to write at all for days at a time. Thankfully, I've recently gotten better, but I still want to give huge thanks to my co-author, Piston24, for holding out for me and still making progress while I've been out. Hopefully, future chapters won't have so many issues surrounding it.
> 
> Regardless, I'm still pretty satisfied with how this chapter turned out, but remember to leave a review to let me know if you're satisfied too or not.
> 
> We intentionally shortened the Elder Baldur fight to one hit instead of a full fight to cut repetition and preserve flow. Also, that flower Chance went apeshit on wasn't a Delicate Flower, by the way; it was just an unrelated, sad white flower.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and we'll see you in the next chapter, whenever it may be!


	10. Wooly Bully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Had two big horns, and a wooly jaw.”

Greetings, baseball fans!

I’m your host for today’s game, L████, and welcome to the final game of the 2017 World Series! Sponsored by the Dirtmouth General Superstore, seller of all trinkets and oddities known under the black skies, and Cornifer Cartography, maker of kingdom-famous maps for adventurers and explorers, now trusted for over twenty years!

Before we begin, let us take a moment and rise for our National Anthem…

…

_ “It's not unuuusuAL, to be loved by anyone! _

_ It's not unuuusuAL, to have fun with anyone! _

_ But when I see you hanging about, with anyone, _

_ It's not unuuusuAL to see me cryyyy, I wanna die…!” _

...

Play ball!

We see the home team’s pitcher, Joe Squit, stepping up to the mound; famous for its nasty fastball, catching many a batter off-guard. It has been a keystone in the home team for ages, with Joe Squit on the 3,425th year of its career. A reliable teammate and powerful asset, the home team is starting off with their best today!

<strike>blood is mead, blood is wine</strike>

And not far away, we see a certain Mr. ████ “Chance” C█████, the visiting team’s batter, stepping up to the plate. A newer addition to the roster, Mr. C█████ has shown great potential and skill since early on in this World Series. A risky move, putting a newbie up first to bat. But it’s a testament to the visiting team’s trust in their new member.

<strike>there is no trust. there is no team. there is only him and nothing and no one else to save him from</strike>

<strike>eternity.</strike>

We can expect Mr. Chance to be staying on the team <strike>stay with me forever</strike>

Mr. Chance prepares his stance, raising his bat as we see Joe Squit throwing its opening pitch-!

* * *

“-And with a thunderous _ crack _, he launches it into far left field!” exclaimed Chance as the blunt side of Iselda’s nail crashed into the face of a massive mosquito, deflecting the leech to the side. Its long proboscis impaled a nearby wall, leaving the infernal bug stuck. It buzzed in panic, trying in vain to pull itself out.

Chance laughed raucously, sprinting through the tall grass as more of the overgrown pests shot after him. “He runs to first base, the ball flies over the fence, it’s outta here-!” One of the bugs charged at him, but Chance spun around and smacked it back with his nail again.

“Second base!”

He came to a ledge and leapt off of it, grinning like a maniac. Just as two more of them soared over his head, he hit the dirt below and stumbled, falling onto his chest. Chance quickly scrambled back up and kept running through the forest, laughing like a giddy child who hadn’t realized they were lost yet.

“Third base!”

Chance’s sprint came to an abrupt halt as he nearly crashed into one of the wooly creatures he had seen earlier, large blobs of orange Infection hanging off of it. The creature quaked, seeping orange gas, pressure building up as it-

Something whistled through the air, followed immediately by a loud crack and a massive stone slab crushing the creature flat. Tusk hopped off of the large rock and onto the grass, looking innocently up at Chance’s orange eyes.

_ “Home run!” _ Chance laughs, picking up Tusk like a doll and hopping onto the slab, spinning around joyously. _ “And it’s over! Visiting team take the game, winning the World Series!-” _

A bony finger roughly jabbed him in the face, breaking Chance out of his daydream. He seized up for a moment as reality came rushing back at him, needing a second to snap back into focus.

“A-Ah,” Chance blushed. Tusk was promptly set back down on the ground, Chance mumbling apologies. He dusted off his pants and jacket with his hands, looking at their surroundings. He couldn’t recognize this place; every corner of this underground greenery blended together, and everything looked the same. At least that was one thing this forest and the Crossroads had in common. Even if he knew where they were exactly, it was probably too late to turn back now.

Might as well keep going deeper. 

From what he could hear, there weren’t any more angry insects nearby. For once, it was unsettlingly _ quiet _, with the only sounds being the fizzing and bubbling of the acid rivers around them, the rustle of leaves from a gust of wind that must’ve found its way down from the surface, and a soft carefree humming.

Chance and Tusk both perked up when they heard it. They’d heard that song before…

Following the tune through the lush caverns, their resolve only grew as they stepped over loose pieces of paper haphazardly tossed to the ground. Chance gently pushed aside a curtain of vines to see Cornifer sitting in a small crevice, humming to himself as he scribbled away on one of his maps.

At their approach, Cornifer’s head shot up, smile beaming when he recognized them.

“Oh, hello again! Fancy meeting you down here!” Cornifer grinned, or at least, Chance thought he grinned, “It’s always nice, seeing a friendly face in this wild undergrowth.”

“I suppose. I’m more surprised to see you down here, though,” Chance replied, feeling himself relax a bit more.

Cornifer let out a hearty laugh, “Oho, my dear friend, did you expect a cartographer to stick in one place?”

“Well…” He had a point, as well as a job to do. “I’m just surprised to have run into you down here. I mean, what are the odds?” He had no idea how large this place was, but he felt as if they were only scratching the surface. That, and he couldn’t believe how the otherwise passive Cornifer made it through the perilous obstacles behind them. Was there some kind of shortcut they were missing?

“Happy coincidences, my friend!” Cornifer said, as though dismissing Chance’s thoughts. “We’re both explorers at heart, you and I.” He glanced over at Tusk, “And your small friend here. A feisty one, they are, oho!”

Chance blinked. “Hey, speaking of,” he spoke up, getting Cornifer’s attention. “Have you run into… well, anyone else, down here?” He didn’t know why he was asking Cornifer of all people, but for some reason, he couldn’t get his mind off of _ that _.

“Anyone else?” Cornifer parroted, humming to himself, “There were a few, yes.”

“Uhm… Did any of them have a red cloak on, by chance?” Chance tried weakly. The only details he knew for certain were that and the horns. It wasn’t much to go on.

“Red cloak, erm...” The cartographer paused for a second, thinking. “I believe I recall seeing a figure with such a cloak. But I couldn’t tell you much about her; Greenpath is a vibrant place, and my memory isn’t what it used to be.” 

_ …”Greenpath?” _ Chance scrunched his face up a bit. Did the people who named this area just… give up?

But then his eyes widened, and his head whipped up to look Cornifer in the eye, and every corner of his mind was fixated on a single word.

_ “Her?” _

Cornifer opened his mouth to respond, but then he perked up as well. “Ah! I remember now! Yes, that one in the red cloak! You must have encountered the Huntress! You had me confused there for a moment.”

“...Huntress.” Chance did _ not _ like the sound of that name. It fit all too well; the sharp, hawk-like glare, the nail that looked roughly his own height, the cold edge of her voice. _ The Huntress. _ It was an impression that stuck.

“She’s something of a legend out here,” Cornifer continued, oblivious to Chance’s frightened apprehension. “Although, little is known about her. I couldn’t even tell you her name. I could only advise you to keep your distance and stay out of her way. I doubt her title is merely for show.”

“R-Right…” Chance muttered. He’d… He’d work something out. They just had to stay out of her way. He could manage that much, right?

Cornifer’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “I presume you’re looking to purchase a map as well?”

Oh, right. He’d almost forgotten that the large bug sold his maps. “S-Sure. How much?”

Sixty was definitely a bump up from their first price, but Chance didn’t complain. They had plenty of money anyway; during their foray through Greenpath, the Gathering Swarm would occasionally flit out of his Geo pouch, only to fly back carrying bits of the currency. Oddly enough, the swarm would also rip a few pieces from the corpses of bugs they had slain. If Chance had to hazard a guess, the infected ones had ingested them?

<strike>or carried them, in a past life</strike>

As such, they could earn this sixty back in no time at all.

“Alright, thanks.”

“Thank _ you _, my friend,” Cornifer smiled behind his glasses. “And stay safe!”

“I’ll…” Chance sighed as he walked away, his thoughts trailing off. “...try.”

* * *

Greenpath was like a rose. It was beautiful, inside and out, but only at a glance. Every rose has its thorns. The beauty of Greenpath was not in its gentle and inoffensive petals, but in the thorns themselves. Greenpath’s thorns and petals were one and the same. The bubbling acid, leafy greens, esoteric life, even the literal thorny vines that snaked throughout.

A natural paradise, as deadly as it was beautiful. The nature consumed everything it could reach, ancient and abandoned structures having been overrun by the greenery. It made it blatantly clear how long any given thing had been here, just by looking to see if it was swamped in vines yet. Anything new stuck out like a sore thumb.

Like this stupid giant jar they just found.

It was large; a little over Tusk’s height, untarnished, although the lid displayed some age. It stood out like a beacon in the foliage, despite the hollow space it was concealed in. But inside…

“A… grub?” Chance spoke dumbly. Within its transparent cage, the lime-green insect squirmed, a sad, glossy look in its eyes. Chance could hear its muffled warbles from within, crying out for help. It was in every way identical to the grubs they had seen back in the Crossroads, likely a relative. But why was it all the way out here, and trapped in a glass jar of all things?

“Hey, little guy, we’re gonna help you outta here, alright?” Chance cooed soothingly into the glass. The grub brightened up a little at his murmurs, its eyes wide with excitement. Chance stood up and studied the jar itself. The cap was much larger than that of a pot; it had about the same radius as a truck tire, with a spiraled handle in the center. Chance reached over, grabbed the handle and tugged, but the lid didn’t budge. It _ was _ a bit hard to both reach out and pull up at the same time. He grabbed the edges of the lid with both hands and set a foot against the glass, grunting as he tugged upwards. He could feel the cover give as it squirmed upwards under the growing pressure, and-

_ CRASH! _

Chance stumbled as his foot slipped forward suddenly, sending the lid over his head, the weight and momentum sending Chance falling backward. Chance groaned as he landed flat on his back in the grass, thankful that his pants were thick enough to save him from any cuts. He looked up to see Tusk holding their nail, standing with an air of self-righteousness. The grub, standing in the center of the wreckage, gave a happy trill, burrowing into the soil underfoot.

Chance gave Tusk a weary stare. “...Why’d you do that?”

The small knight only gave a shrug, and Chance let his head fall back into the grass.

* * *

Chance shuddered as he ran his hand over the smooth surface of the large… _ thing _, sticking out of the ground. It didn’t look new, it didn’t seem man-slash-bug-made, yet it still stuck out to him. It didn’t fit the scenery. Not did the other dozen or so of these things, all surrounding the dim hallway they found themselves walking down. They all curved inwards, deeper into the cavern, into the darkness, like the maw of some horrific beast.

“I think we went the wrong way.”

Tusk stopped and turned around, looking back at Chance. They only nodded their head towards the deeper end of the cave, not planning on going back.

“No, I’m serious, I think we were supposed to go _ down _ back there, not straight.”

Tusk probably would’ve sighed if they had a mouth. They ambled over to where Chance was squatting, examining the large… teeth? They reached up and grabbed Chance’s hand that was placed upon the massive fang, and Chance felt himself shiver at the small knight’s cool and impossibly smooth touch. They gently tugged it off, and clasped their tiny hand into Chance’s own. They looked up into Chance’s eyes, nodded, and went back into the tunnel, pulling Chance along.

“U-Uh, h-hey, wait-!” Chance stumbled over his words as the tiny knight dragged them deeper into the menacing cavern. He was forced to lean forward uncomfortably to make up for his and Tusk’s difference in stature, and he nearly tripped and fell flat on his face several times before they reached the light at the end of the tunnel.

The cramped, yet imposing cave widened up into a much larger room. Countless wild Lumaflies danced in the air like a swirling cosmos, filling the room with a soft, yet warm light. The massive ivory pikes were only more plentiful in here, and in the center of the cave, a small mound sat, unassuming. 

Unassuming, were it not for the dozens of teeth lining the outer rim of an opening into the mound itself. They weren’t like the other giant teeth out here; They were _ definitely _ unnatural, and Chance did _ not _ want to know about whatever horrors lie beyond the mouth of the cave.

“Tusk, I really, _ really _ think we should-”

Six smoldering eyes pierced the darkness, and a monstrous ** _roar_ ** erupted from within the circle of teeth.

Tusk stood their ground, staring stoically into the white eyes of the demon. Chance was less successful, screaming and falling backward as he frantically grasped for his nail. Unsheathing it with shaky hands, he felt adrenaline and panic cloud his mind as he rolled back onto his feet.

_ He had to kill it. Before it killed him. Before it killed Tusk. _

It was a _ monster _, some horrific thing that should not and should never be. It threatened him, threatened his only friend in this hellscape. It had to die, and he had to kill it.

Sprinting forward blindly, he sensed a huge, shadowy limb reach out to strike him. He could see nothing, blinded in panic and rage, but he could _ feel _ the attack coming.

Like a second instinct, he tightened his grip on the sword, screaming as he swung skyward, and felt his blade connect.

A glint of light reflected off the metal of his sword, and Chance blinked. He could see clearly again. His heart was racing, the first beads of sweat were forming from what must’ve been ten seconds of fighting, but blind instinct had faded back to clear thought.

A low, pained growl came from his side, and Chance whirled around to see the demon, two long, emaciated, dark arms, cradling a wounded hand. His blade had managed to slice off the smallest finger, which had fallen to the ground and was profusely gushing blood. A heavy gash ran along the palm of the injured hand as well, oozing the same dark blood.

**“...What are you…?”**

Chance caught his breath as the larger than life thing _ spoke _ to him. He wasn’t sure why it surprised him. He’d already seen talking bugs, but a creature of this scale… it felt unreal. Its blisteringly white eyes turned to him, and Chance felt every bone in his body freeze up.

**“You scream for mercy… before striking with such ferocity. And yet, here you stand, paralyzed. Are you confused, strange fleshbag?”**

Chance blinked at the nickname, before narrowing his eyes. “_ Fleshbag?” _He stepped forward threateningly. “What kind of name is that, you-”

**“And there you go yet again,”** the Thing spoke with bewildered exasperation, **“You cannot decide between pitiful cowering and murderous rage. I’ve never seen a creature quite like you, fleshbag.”**

Chance paused to let the Thing’s words set in, ignoring the offensive new nickname. What _ had _ gotten into him lately? He had been steadily becoming more and more irritable, with a growing disdain for all things around him.

...There was one explanation burning in his mind, but he didn’t have the guts to face it head-on.

Shaking off his indecision, Chance gave the creature’s hand another look. “L-lemme fix that,” he stammered, approaching with more caution. The Thing watched with interest as Chance sheathed his nail and reached down towards the severed finger - which was almost as long as his arm - and pi-

_ Brothers and sisters _

_ Dark, could be anywhere _

_ Dark _

_ Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Cli- _

_ Alone? All the walls are sticky _

_ Alone _

_ Kill, eat _

_ Hunt, understand _

_ Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clickity-cla- _

-cked it up, grunting at the weight. He grimaced at the blood, pooling in the grass at his feet and seeping into his clothes. He stumbled over to the Hunter and held the finger at the stump where it should be. Where it should be. Where it should always be. It’s always been there. Always there. Never left. Never left.

Slowly, the seam between them fused together, and Chance willed the pale wisps dancing among his fingers to climb upwards, sealing the gash in the Hunter’s palm, as if the wound was never there. Which it wasn’t. Never was.

The Hunter flexed the reattached finger, grunting softly to itself. “**Such an odd morsel,** ” Its six glowing eyes focused on Chance, “ **What other secrets do you hide…?”**

Chance inched back slightly. It was hard to keep eye contact when the other guy had three times the eyes you did.

“Well… erhm… wanna trade secrets?” he stammered sheepishly. He still wasn’t convinced that the Hunter wouldn’t try to eat him still. Still, if he could maybe leverage with his supposed mystique, he could perhaps get him and Tusk out of this jam alive.

Surprisingly, the beast let out a low chuckle, “**Cowardly still, and yet you banter words?”** He huffed. **“And that murderous instinct still rages in you, despite how you try to suppress it. Do you possess the same urges I do? To stalk, kill, understand?”**

“Um…” It had never been about killing for the _ sake _ of killing; he and Tusk did what had to be done. Half the time, he almost considered it mercy. A mercy from the same thing that was slowly killing him from the inside out. “Well, I… wish to understand.”

“**Bah!” ** The Hunter growled, “ **One cannot ** ** _merely_ ** ** understand. To read of and study beasts is to ** ** _know_ ** **, but to ** ** _understand_ ** **, one must act, and face the unknown head-on. You may not possess the spirit of the Hunt, but what of the tiny squib?”**

Tusk looked up into the eyes of the Hunter at their mention, who let out a grunt of approval. “**Do you see, fleshbag? Even the squib is braver than you; fearless, even.** ” The beast let out several quiet breaths, examining Tusk closer, “ **Yes, this one understands.**”

“How can you tell?” Chance felt that it wasn’t so much that Tusk had _ bravery _ , so much that they had an absolute _ absence of fear _. Tusk probably was a hunter, at least in the big one’s eyes; it wasn’t a big stretch to make for the warrior-like bug. But to tell at just a glance alone?

“**Us hunters share a kindred bond, fleshbag,** ” The Beast growled, “ **It is not something I expect you to understand.**”

And there was that word again. _ Understand. _ Maybe Chance would understand what it meant to be a Hunter one day. Maybe. It wasn’t really that important to him. So, what _ was _ important? What did he _ need _ to understand?

Something popped into Chance’s head.

“W-Wait!” Could this Hunter be related to _ her _? “We saw someone in a red cloak earlier. Do you know anything about-”

“**Find out yourself,** ” the Hunter dismissed, spitting a slate out of its mound “cavern”, which Tusk caught. “ **One of my journals. It will help you, though it may be hard for the inexperienced to read at first. Go forth and slay, squib! Prove yourself worthy of the title!**” Tusk picked up the stone, looked over it for a second, then stashed it on themself… somewhere.

“**And for your companion, the fleshbag, perhaps he can be made a hunter yet,** ” The Hunter mused, “ **I leave him in your hands, squib** .” Tusk solemnly nodded, almost in deference. Chance almost wanted to exclaim, _ I’m right here! _, but held his tongue.

“Thank you… Hunter.” Chance said, “We’ll see you around. Also, sorry for the… erm.” He gave a vague gesture towards the Hunter’s hand, and then an awkward wave as he and Tusk began to make their way out.

“**Don’t disappoint me, fleshbag, and we’ll let bygones be bygones.**” The Hunter replied. Chance didn’t want to think about what disappointment meant for him.

Finally, as they left behind the Hunter, Chance let out a breath he had been holding. He could still feel his nerves shaking, even now. But, they did get something from this. A rock, which Tusk had brought out once again. And one which they… opened?

He blinked, taking a closer look. No, rocks. Two thin ones, to be exact, acting as covers for crude pages composed of what looked like crushed leaves. For their contents, Chance couldn’t even tell. It was as indecipherable as the rest of Hallownest’s writing. And for once, it seemed to be the same for Tusk, judging by the slight shaking of their head.

Chance just sighed. He’d figure it out later. Along with everything else in this hellhole.

* * *

They had to be going on circles. The vines, the grass, the leaves, the bushes, the flowers, the acid, the faint twinge of Infection in the air. All of it blended together into one big compost pile in Chance’s eyes. A flat shade of green. Cornifer’s map telling them that they were, in fact, making progress was the only thing keeping Chance from giving up from frustration.

Finally, the flat green clashed and warped with a uniform grey brick, a stone platform leading them forward. A landmark, an anchor, something to prove he was making progress at all, something to prove that Greenpath even existed.

And then blood was splattered all over it.

She was blood.

The Huntress fell from thin air and onto the stone bricks, landing perfectly on the ground. Chance couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He was doing so well at avoiding her, he hadn’t even seen her yet, and now she was _ right there _ in front of him. The distance between them meant nothing. Even if he couldn’t reach her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that _ she _ could reach _ him _, from the other side of the stone platform, from the other side of the world.

She stood up slowly, as though she could sense the presence behind her. Her nail - no, that wasn’t a nail. Her _ needle _ glinted under Greenpath’s impossible light, stainless silver, but Chance couldn’t even imagine the shades of red and orange it had been stained before.

Her two imposing horns turned, and Chance found himself trapped in her dark eyes, no matter how he clawed for escape.

Her eyes were as black as Tusk’s, but her eyes didn’t feel _ empty _ like Tusk’s were. Instead of two bottomless pits for eye sockets, the Huntress had true _ eyes _, and a tiny hint of light managed to escape from their inky blackness to glint malice at him.

She was blood.

She was brilliance, she was elegance, and she made him want to vomit.

Chance could only stammer out a single shaky breath.

“Wh-Wait-”

The air around the Huntress seemed to shimmer, and she wordlessly _ threw _ her needle out into the forest beyond them. But as Chance reached out, she impossibly flew off after it, grappling her way through the air and weaving between the vines, soaring off in the direction she threw her needle into.

A heavy silence fell. All Chance could do was focus on his breathing, keep the air going through your lungs, keep yourself moving, don’t let her have killed you with a glance.

He felt a tugging on his pants, and there was Tusk. He’d almost forgotten about them. Chance could only sigh as he looked down at the little knight.

“At least you’re doing alright, bud.”

* * *

“Oka-Okay, yeah, great, great great, cool, but what about _ me?! _”

Chance had been gracious enough to carry a tired Tusk around on his shoulders, giving the small knight a piggy-back ride, until the Knight had spotted a ledge high above them and leapt off of his shoulders to reach it. Tusk gained a foothold and scrabbled upwards onto the ledge, discarding a small shower of rocks down upon Chance.

Tusk stood atop the ledge, triumphant, staring down at him as if to say, _ “Why not just climb the vines?” _

“Wh-I don’t-Do these even-...” he grunted. “Can these even hold me?” he grabbed a fistful of vines off the dirt wall and tugged. They held, no matter how hard he pulled. With a sigh of resignation, Chance reached up and began slowly scaling the wall up to Tusk.

* * *

Call - Oh - See - Uhm.

The Roman Colosseum, also known as the Flavian Amphitheatre. Made primarily of limestone, tuff and concrete. Held a maximum capacity of approximately eighty thousand people in its time, with an average audience of sixty-five thousand.

Approximately six point five million visitors every year, as of 2015.

Six-point-five million visitors per year, divided by three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, equals about seventeen thousand and eight hundred visitors a day.

Seventeen thousand, eight hundred.

By comparison, this colosseum had an average daily visitor count of zero.

While Tusk practically pranced into the open space, Chance bit his lip. The atmosphere here felt somehow sharp. Something was watching him. Many somethings. Somethings with a thousand eyes. Eyes pressing into him, into his skin, like needles. He clenched his fists until they were red and slick with sweat. Tension in his arms and legs. A ragged breath. He set foot inside, cautiously following after Tusk.

This colosseum had recently broken its record for daily visitors, with an astounding two.

His steps on the stone floor echoed far in a way that they wouldn’t anywhere else in Greenpath. He circled around on the spot, looking for shadows moving between the arches or monsters creeping between the seats. Hunters hiding in caves or huntresses ready to strike from above.

The leaves danced at his feet.

One leaf twisted and twirled through the air, floating up towards Chance’s face. He blinked, and tried to swat it away. It slipped between his fingers, however, and danced away. Chance could only watch, paranoia rising, as it spun, wavered, and settled on the ground. It was only then Chance noticed all the leaves on the floor, seemingly grouped in a large, yet flat pile, like a cartoonish booby-trap where a pit hit under them. Chance didn’t have the best sense of scale, but to try and calm himself, he tried to estimate the size of the pile from where he stood. It looked like it was about seven feet in width, and maybe about forty feet in length.

No, thirty-five.

Thirty.

Twenty.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Five.

The leaves rushed past him.

This colosseum had an average daily visitor count of _ two thousand. _

_ Every seat was filled, crowds of bugs roaring down to the stage below, in admiration, in love, in impatience. Creatures of all shapes and sizes, and every last eye was on him. _

_ He tightened his grip on his spear, feeling the brilliant and midsummer sun beat down on his skin that wasn’t covered by his gladiator’s armor. It wasn’t armor. The leather lower half of a tunic around his waist, draping down to just above his knees, adorned by metal embeds. A single leather strap slung over his shoulder. The most protective parts of his armor were the heavy metal shoulderplates, and the tall, bold helmet, adorned with an orange mohawk. _

_ He shifted his feet across the stone, kicking up some dust with the heavy sandal-like boots that went up his calves as he got into a battle position. _

_ He couldn’t fail now. She was watching, and he wouldn’t screw up in front of her. _

_ The leaves quaked, and from them exploded a massive beast. Two orange eyes awoke from within the leaves, followed by a deep, guttural roar of fury. _

_ The monster charged forward, like a raging bull. _

_ Twenty feet. _

_ Fifteen. _

_ Ten. _

_ Five. _

_ He leapt to the side, as he had practiced countless times before, and thrust his spear outwards, raking into the beast’s side. Perfectly executed, yet only to graze through air. _

_ The leaves scattered and fell to the ground, and the beast vanished with it in a vanishing act that made the crowd roar in approval. _

_ Foom! The beast was behind him. It rushed at him again, and he didn’t have time to dodge. All he could do was raise his spear defensively, and the leaves all rushed past him with a gust of wind. _

_ When he opened his clenched eyes, his spear was gone. _

_ The crowd “ooo”’d in wonder, murmuring in excitement, asking the bugs sitting around them if they saw anything. Nobody did. _

_ He spun around, desperately seeking for something to defend himself with. Nothing. _

_ He cast his eyes skyward, to her, to the Goddess, silently begging for forgiveness, begging for mercy. _

_ But the gaze he expected to burn him with disappointment was only filled with adoration. Trust. Belief. _

_ This wasn’t over. _

_ The beast rose again. _

_ Fifteen. _

_ Ten _

_ Five. _

_ With expert skill, he bent his leg upwards and cast it forth with the force of a sledgehammer, straight into the beast’s face- _

And it all broke apart.

Several small, blueish-green creatures with cream-colored faces flew out from where the Moss Charger one stood, and scattered. Tusk dashed up to make quick work of the bugs, but they all fled without a scratch. Whatever. They wouldn’t be back.

Chance wavered, stumbled, and fell on the ground, his leg hurting like hell.

He heard a crash, and glanced up to see Tusk’s pale head just barely poking out from a pile of leaves left behind by the creature. Chance smiled, slowly pulling himself to his feet, hobbling over, wincing from the aching in his leg, and collapsing in the leaf pile. Compared to the firm, itchy dirt, or the hard stone, it felt like heaven.

Maybe he could stay here for a little bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and beginning notes are a reference to Wooly Bully by Sam The Sham & The Pharaohs.
> 
> This chapter took MUCH longer than expected, so we thank you sincerely for your patience up until now. While this delay was partially attributed to writer's block and sheer laziness, it's also because Piston and I have been working on a second project alongside this one, one that is directly related to this story. We won't say exactly what it is yet, but we expect the first chapter for it to release within the coming days, so keep a look out for that!
> 
> You might notice the slight stylistic change in the later parts of this chapter. I'd noticed that our styles were starting to get a bit stale, with the "this happened then that happened then this person said that thing and this person felt that" type drone. The new style I'm trying is experimental for us, a more minimalist, train-of-thought type of writing. In theory, it should both help keep chapters shorter(and by extension, faster to write) and help make some of the themes in this story easier to express.
> 
> Also, yes, we know that you can't fight the Massive Moss Charger in-game without the Mothwing Cloak, and we're just gonna silently ignore that detail.
> 
> EDIT: As you might've noticed by the new tags, we're also looking for suggestions for a new title. Cause this one kinda sucks. Any ideas are welcome!
> 
> The next chapter should be a bit faster. Thank you all so much for your patience, please remember to leave a comment and we'll see you next chapter!


	11. Green River, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can hear the bullfrog callin' me.”

Twenty feet.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Fi-

Chance was starting to believe that the flat side of his nail was more effective than the blade itself.

The formation of shrubs and leaves encasing the small grub-like creature collapsed as he smashed his nail against it. The grub bounced away almost comically, before falling over a ledge and splashing into the pool of acid below them.

The flat side was easier to use anyway, Chance thought as he and Tusk stalked the halls of another colosseum-like structure in Greenpath. There was no need for precision or skill. Why spend countless hours training to slice a monster clean in half when you could bash their face in with no training at all? 

He didn’t get any training anyway, aside from about twenty minutes of form practice and sparring with Iselda. After that, Tusk butted in, and here they were. Whether or not it came back to bite him in the ass, he wasn’t sure, but for now, he was doing fine. Besides, it wasn’t like he had the time for any real training; he was already against the clock.

It was a weird, lop-sided balance of things. His only real goal was to cure his Infection before it overtook him. He didn’t care what it took, as long as he got there in time. More training maybe would’ve made things go faster, sure, but would the time saved from being well-trained be worth the time lost by actual training?

But with this revelation, their romp across Greenpath became a tad easier. Well, that, and the masonry, as cracked and broken as it was, was still superior to the natural cut paths that wove throughout the Greenpath. Not to mention that the creatures that ordinarily stalked the undergrowth were hilariously exposed without their leafy environment. Though, that still didn’t stop some of the fauna.

Take, for example, the lesser “Moss Charger” he had just destroyed. They were surprisingly good targets to practice his new method of smacking the buggers around. Almost like playing an odd game of baseba _ itcher wound back, only to snap the ball forward in a streak of fire. _

_ Twenty feet. _

_ Fifteen. _

_ Ten. _

_ Chance dropped into a compact stance, winding up his nail. _

_ Fi- _

_ A perfect hit! _

A small chuckle escaped him as the grub was forced off the platform. He could get used to this.

* * *

“H-Hey! Could we please just- just talk for a-”

The Huntress ignored him, shooting off again.

“...Dammit.”

The hand he had reached out to her, as if he could magically pull her back, flopped down to his side. Why’d he care, anyway? It’s not like she’d help them at all. Avoiding her was a  _ good _ thing.

And yet, he couldn’t help but feel a strange  _ curiosity _ bubbling in his gut, frustrated at being denied. Some irrational part of him  _ wanted _ to go closer,  _ wanted _ to put his neck to her blade and ask, “What’s your name?”

He wanted to follow but he wanted to keep his distance but he wanted to follow but he wanted to keep his distance.

He sighed, looking down at Tusk. They said nothing, of course, but stared at him as if to say,  _ “Make up your damn mind.” _

Even Tusk must have been feeling that stagnant frustration, but they didn’t even chase her as they had the last couple times. But regardless of how they felt, they had to keep going forward. Maybe their fortunes would change, but he had been saying the same thing for ages now; it only felt more and more unlikely.

Chance clambered up to where the Huntress had just been, stretching out with a yawn as Tusk effortlessly jumped up with him. They must’ve been going for a few hours now, his exhaustion was starting to get to him. They may need to find a place to rest soon-ish. He slung his nail over his shoulder, like a hobo-stick, sighing as they staggered on.

The room ahead had far more thorny vines than normal, including what looked like a massive one in the middle, bigger than any tree Chance had ever seen. ...That he could ever _recall_ seeing. Either way, there was probably a way around it, as Tusk ran forward to survey the area. If they couldn’t go around, maybe they could just cut through-

_ Goosebumps. _

Every hair on his body standing on edge.

His sixth sense was practically going haywire.

Something, some _ one _ , creeping closer.

From behind.

They were behind him

_ She _ was behind him.

Closer.

Her breath on his neck.

A sound so petrifyingly soft, laced heavy with venom.

_ “Hissssssss~” _

-something  _ snapped _ in Chance, like he had just been injected with cheetah adrenaline, and he spun around, gripping his nail in a vice, only to see nobody there. His body was tense, and he felt a cold sweat coming on.  _ The Huntress. _ She had gotten  _ that _ close to him, and he almost didn’t notice. He could be  _ dead _ right now, if she wanted him to be.

(...If she  _ could’ve _ killed him then and there, some part in the back of his mind silently wondered why she  _ didn’t _ , but it went ignored in his hysteria.)

Tusk had just about found the way through, but turned around when they heard Chance scrambling up a wall, trying to follow a path neither of them had noticed before. It was a good few feet higher up than he was, but he had somehow managed to get a foothold, and his fingers were just grazing the hidden platform above.

He didn’t even know what he was doing. But this path couldn’t be a dead end, right? The Huntress had to have gone somewhere. And again, there was that boiling curiosity; something red in a world of green, it stood out too much. Like a big neon sign just  _ begging _ him to follow it. An hour or so ago, he would’ve been begging  _ her _ to  _ not _ follow  _ him _ .

Just when he had gotten an arm up on the platform, he began to pull himself up when he glanced up, and noticed Tusk already there, three steps ahead of him as always.

* * *

Son of a-

What? Where did-

Oh, there they were.

Whu-

How’d they-

How was  _ he _ -

His hands hurt.

Oh, for God’s-

His whole body hurt.

Chance hated climbing now.

He had hoped that “secret path” he had found, courtesy of the Huntress probably trying to kill him, would act as, like… a  _ trapdoor _ or something. Just a gap in the ceiling that led to a secret floor above for them to explore. Of course it wasn’t that easy, because he had gotten up on the platform. And up the next one. And up the next one. Almost fell off of this one. Barely managed to get up that one. And up the next one.

It wasn’t even fun parkour, just endless, grueling mountain climbing.

Tusk, an acrobat to rival most Olympic medalists, had no issue getting up. They’d also helped take out several of the huge hostile bugs swarming the area, but not without them all managing to make Chance’s life even more of a living hell than it already was. 

When they got back to Dirtmouth, he was checking with Sly to see if he sold any pesticides. Hell, he would be happy with bug spray. Though, he supposed that was the Hallownest equivalent of a black-market cyanide deal.

But finally,  _ finally _ , the shaft ended. Moss turned to brick as Chance heaved himself onto a solid platform, free of those giant demon bugs, with a weary laugh. A break. Someplace safe. Someplace warm. Someplace that-

“-costs 50 Geo to open?!” Chance groaned. It wasn’t a huge payment, but the fact that he had to pay anything at all was ridiculous.

Part of him wanted to turn back the way they came out of spite at the toll. But equally, they had worked so hard to get up here in the first place… the bug who designed this place was a devious bastard, that much was certain. Still, a toll booth after a shaft, what was the point?

But, he supposed they could gain the Geo back at a later date. Ugh, it was going to be a slippery slope if he kept that thought up. What was next, paying like, he didn’t know, 150 Geo just to sit at a bench?

That was neither here nor now though. Grumbling slightly, he paid the toll, opening the iron gate. Some cynical part of him half expected it to be a dead end.

Tusk tugged on his hand, dragging him to the bench. Yeah, yeah, a rest actually did sound pretty good right now. 

The two sides of Hallownest builders. They were insidious capitalists with their tolls, but their idea of putting benches all over was starting to grow on him. Well, that, and how they were able to build things in such inconvenient spots. He had to respect that.

Regardless, it was nice to sit down after such a grueling climb. Heck, he was practically melting into the cold embrace of the steel, as hard and impersonal as it was. Tusk, meanwhile, had snatched up the map and quill, making neat additions to their new map. He couldn’t help but look over their shoulder as the quill flew across the paper. 

Methodical outlining, markings, done with unparalleled precision. No mistakes made, no redos. Tusk worked with near perfection. Were they an artist? If not, maybe he’d try getting them some paint sometime. Though, did Hallownest have paint? Or even a good palette of colors? Even with his weird amnesia, he had the feeling that color pigments and the like were hard to replicate with Hallownest’s apparent technology level.

Though, on the other hand, if they had the technology to scam him out of 50 Geo just to sit on a bench, maybe they could make paint after all, but he was certain it’d come at a price. Maybe if he just gave Tusk some charcoal…

A light tapping on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Tusk was holding the now updated map up to him for inspection.

“Yeah, it looks nice. You know you’re freaky good at this, right?” A proud nod. Honestly, it was only getting easier and easier to interpret Tusk’s little body motions. Or he was just ascribing emotion that was wrong or didn’t exist to them. But back to the map.

...Huh. They really had gone quite up from that stone colosseum, if Tusk’s map was accurate. Spatial perception felt so twisted in these caves; distance was so hard to judge. Though he had a feeling that was more of a “him” problem.

They sat there for a spell, content with their rest. But all good things had to come to an end. Tusk, who had the appearance of dozing off, lifted their head up, and jumped back onto the ground. They shot him a look.

“Alright alright, I’m up.” He stretched a tad, getting back to his feet. Tusk’s bottomless enthusiasm made him feel like an old man sometimes.

* * *

The upper portion of Greenpath certainly was less tame than the area they had left behind, if tame could even be applied. The rubble and ruins below did curtail the plant growth to an extent, or at least provided an easier path. Suffice to say, the same didn’t apply here.

Though it wasn’t like they cramped, far from it; the issue was instead the rioting jungle that had sprung up in the free space. While by no means impassible, it certainly was no walk in the park either. He and Tusk had even resorted to using their nails like machetes, cutting through the worst of the brambles. They were surprisingly effective for the job.

But sooner than later (and after a fight with a tall lanky, green knight; a leafy knight of all things), they cut through into an area devoid of plant life. Apparently, even the flourishing greens of Greenpath had their limits. Back to a place as barren as the Crossroads. And colder, too. Not to mention windy.

At the very least, it wasn’t like they could be ambushed as easily now. And without all the greenery to impede them… yeah, it wasn’t too bad. Though after the vibrancy behind them, the path did feel rather desolate and devoid of life. Part of him just wanted to turn back to Greenpath proper, but their strategy of wandering aimlessly had not failed them yet. So forward they went.

...Through the desolation, through the dark. Cutting down the few pitiful bugs that wandered here.

_ “Gah! Stupid gnat!” _

Huh?

_ “I will smite you!” _

Was… was someone…?

“Um… you hearing that too?” Chance asked Tusk. A nod. 

Though it was a bit difficult to follow the voice on account of its incessant echoing, they found the source soon enough. In the center of a spacious cave, a very,  _ very _ large Vengefly (Easily as large as the False Knight, Chance thought with a shudder) was hanging from the ceiling, with a… another someone stuck in its mandibles?

“Accursed beast!” came from the figure in the Vengefly’s clutches. A rough and whiny voice, at that. Though that didn’t deter Tusk from running up to engage this large Vengefly. Jumping high, even by their standards, Tusk sliced the monster’s hide with their nail, releasing the thing’s prey from its oversized mandibles.

“Oh shi-!” Chance yelped, running forward to catch the falling figure, but was far from succeeding. The bug, whoever it was, flopped to the ground in a pathetic display, yet didn’t seem at all injured. Were all bug-people resilient to falling? Chance set the question aside as he scooped the light bug up.

_ Pride. _

_ Doubt. _

_ Conflict. _

_ Desperation and Desolation. _

_ Raised voice, scratched wood. _

_ A mask. Lonely wandering. _

He blindly clutched the figure quite tightly, running away from the battle. Tusk could handle themselves.

_ “Just what do you think you're doing?! You dare to come between me and my prey? Is it a habit of yours to scurry about, getting in the way and causing bother?” _ The indignant bug all but shouted from his arms. Chance winced slightly at the tone. Behind them, Tusk was still fighting the oversized Vengefly.

While this new bug certainly looked plenty like Tusk, sans a droopier, sad looking mask of bone, he certainly wasn’t mute. And judging by the voice, male. 

“Wha-”

“And let me down! You dare lay your filthy hands on my knightly visage!” The bug barked, cutting him off. Chance stood speechless from the outburst. Shocked too, in fact, so that when the rude bug squirmed out of his arms, he didn’t resist. 

“What is wrong with yo- _Gah!_” Chance tried to say, but exclaimed in pain instead. Did he-?

Yes, he had just been whacked in the shin by a wooden stick.  _ Was this guy 5 or 50? _

“And who the hell-” Chance ducked down as a smaller Vengefly soared right over his head towards Tusk, while ignoring him completely. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Chance grunted, rubbing his shin.

“I am Zote the Mighty, meddlesome cur!” he exclaimed, “Such ignorance to not know of my glorious name.” 

Chance  _ did _ know of his “glorious” name already. He still wasn’t sure how or why, though, and wasn’t about to give Zote the satisfaction of knowing this.

“Wh-... are you serious?” Chance said in disbelief. Behind them, way off, Tusk plunged their sword into the Vengefly’s head, effectively killing it. Chance didn’t pay any attention as Gathering Swarm quietly emerged from his clothing, fluttering to the fresh corpse.

“Horrid beast! You dare question me!? Do so again, and you’ll learn why my blade is named ‘Life Ender’!” ‘Zote’ brandished the wooden nail, the very same he had been smacked in the sin with, threateningly. Chance would have called it pathetic, but he really didn’t feel like getting smacked again.

“Um… s-sure, whatever…”

“What was that? Need I entertain your childish games?” Growled Zote, “For such a Mighty Knight to stoop so low… but I suppose I must enlighten you.” 

_ So, similar looking to Tusk, but otherwise completely different in every other way. More bark than bite, though. _

Zote continued, oblivious to Chance’s consternation, “I have traveled the breadth of the world, slain beasts beyond your comprehension, performed great acts of heroics! I am a warrior, a philosopher, an ace!” Zote exclaimed, swelling with pride.

...Yeah, he was just going to fetch Tusk and get out of here. At least his wallet was about… erhm, well, a bit heavier, at least.

* * *

“...And that is Precept 47. Now onto Precept 48! Be careful with fire! Fire is a type of hot spirit that-” And that was when Chance tuned out Zote yet again. He had spent the past hour going on and on about his backward “precepts”, of all things. Chance was starting to wonder if it was  _ really _ worth it to follow this guy.

“Uh huh,” Chance nodded absentmindedly, focusing more on their surroundings, instead of the prideful bug next to him. Tusk was right next to Zote though, hanging on to every word coming from him. How they could stand it, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps Tusk was starved for interaction? Or maybe bored? Was Chance  _ that _ bad of a companion that  _ Zote _ was more interesting?

“-nd now onto Precept 50! Don’t linger on mysteries! Some things in this world are-” They were on 50 now? It was a wonder that this bug hadn’t talked himself out yet. By far, he had to be the chattiest person they had come across yet.

But, he supposed it was something they were going to have to put up with for a while. They were, ahem,  _ “accompanying” _ Zote to the local Stag Station. Or, as Zote had put it, “I will gladly extend my heroics to even the likes of you.” It was annoying and mind-grating, but knowing the location of another Stag Station would be valuable. So, here they were.

“So uh, how far are we from the Station?” Chance quipped, cutting off Zote’s speech.

Zote scoffed. “Insolent… thing! I’ll have you know we’re close. Just a few more minutes, impatient thing!” Zote barked, briefly stopping.

Normally, Chance wasn’t one to antagonize people, but Zote’s word choice was just too tempting.

_ “Thing?” _ Chance began, “The Almighty Zote doesn’t know what I am?” While they still needed Zote, that didn’t mean he couldn’t mess with him a tad. 

“Wha- Of  _ course! _ ” Zote exclaimed, bravado evident, “You’re a… ah… cryptid!”

Cryptid? ...He wasn’t too far off, actually. Well, by Hallownest standards. His “normal” was probably “sheer insanity” here.

“And what type of _cryptid_ am I?” Chance prodded, bumping Zote slightly with his knee. He couldn’t help but let a little grin cross his face, though Zote and Tusk probably couldn’t see it on account of their dim surroundings.

“Well… you’re… um…”

“Really? Such a well-traveled explorer such as yourself hasn’t encountered one of my kind?” Chance smirked, hamming up his speech. He may have been enjoying watching Zote squirm a little too much.

“Of course I have! The name just eludes me! Truly, no one is perfect, though I have nearly attained it! ...Though, could you please refresh me?” ... _ Ugh, at least he said please. _

“Well, we call ourselves ‘humans’, you got that. Humans.” He repeated slowly, stressing each syllable. “Not _hughmann_, or _whoman_.”

“Ah, humans. Yes, I remember now!” Zote proclaimed, performing yet another little stance.  _ Little shit… _

“What was that?” Zote asked, sounding offended.  _ Shit, did he say that out loud? _

“No, no, it’s nothing.” Chance had his fun, and Zote still had to lead them to the Stag Station. After that… he wasn’t quite sure. By hell though, they were leaving Zote there.

* * *

“And are we getting any closer?” Chance asked. They had been walking for what felt like an hour now, and for all intents and purposes, it felt like they were no closer than they had been previously.

“Incessant gnat, patience!” Zote barked, “It is a great virtue! One you would do well to learn! ...But yes, we are close.”

“Good, good.” Chance nodded. Even if Zote was  _ pretentious of all hell _ , it was almost over.  _ Almost over _ .

_ Shrie- Crash! _

Both jumped at the noise, Chance in particular wildly looking about, breath coming quickly. From a cursory glance, there wasn’t anything out of place, except…  _ oh . _

“Where’s Tusk!?” Chance nearly shouted, though managed to keep his voice quiet.

“Gah! Stay quie-”

“No! They must have wandered off somewhere! Help me look!” Chance broke off in a reckless run, following where the noise had emanated from. It wasn’t that he thought of Tusk being unable to handle themselves; rather, it was the untold destruction that Tusk could potentially unleash. Or setting off whatever kinds of traps this place had, for that matter. Greenpath may have seemingly been mostly untouched by civilization, but he wouldn’t put their luck to run into the one remaining trap that functioned. Or those bulbous, man-eating plants that could swallow both of them whole.

Breaking out into a somewhat small area, he witnessed Tusk doing battle with another one of those Leaf Knights. A gate was set against the back wall, presumably the source of the disturbance. Behind it was another one of those glass jars holding a grub.

Chance ran in, nail already drawn. The Leaf Knight was still occupied with Tusk, leaving itself exposed…

_ Crunch! _

That was all he needed. Two truly was stronger than one.

And apparently, the knight’s friends agreed. While Chance was distracted by the Gathering Swarm ripping a nice amount of Geo from its now dead body, two others crawled up from the leaves.

* * *

Zote scoffed, “Are you two done now? Ugh! So rude to run off!” 

“Well, excuse us,” Chance muttered, walking back to Zote with Tusk in tow. The grub gave off a happy chirp, before burrowing underground. The last of the white wisps from the Focus healing process had already dispersed into the air.

“Oh, I see. You believe yourself to be heroes based on your meager deeds. Well, aren’t you good Samaritans?” Zote grunted, turning back.  _ Bastar... _

Wait.

“ _ Good Samaritan? _ ” Chance blurted. Something about that phrase stuck out to him. It sounded distinctly...  _ human _ .

Zote scoffed again. “Uncultured herb! Have you not read the cultured literature of this kingdom? I knew you were an uneducated ruffian, but to the extent you show? Disgraceful!”

“But where does it come from? What’s a Samaritan?” Chance questioned, trying to keep his temper under control.

“It’s… uh… a good bug!” Zote exclaimed, “Like myself!” This was going nowhere.

“Ugh… just, can we get to the station?” 

“Patience, grasshopper!” Zote snapped. “We are approaching our destination. In the meantime, however, I shall finish educating you on my Precepts. You clearly need them. And now, onto Precept #51…”

Oh,  _ fuck _ this guy.

* * *

“...And here we are! Did you doubt my memory?”

He did.

Greenpath’s Stag Station was in about as good shape as the Forgotten Crossroads; that was to say, fallen victim to time. Though granted, the sealed room kept a fair amount of the creeping greens out, so it wasn’t all bad.

“No,” Chance lied. Tusk had left to sit on the bench, “I… have to thank you for your help.” Annoying little prick or not, Zote did save them plenty of trouble of wandering about aimlessly. Though that didn’t cancel out the idiocy they had to endure.

“Save your thanks, peasant. It is the chivalrous duty of us knights, after all!” And exclamation, another puff of the proud bug’s chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chance wearily said, already making his way to sit by Tusk. While he was still remiss that Tusk was, for all intents and purposes, mute, a bit of silence wouldn’t be too out of place. If he ever heard the word “precept” again...

Though his rest was quickly interrupted by a near-shout from Zote, “Don’t think I do not require compensation! I think 140 Geo should suffice!” He was right next to the pay toll.

“Let me guess; travel money for the station?”

“...Yes.” Zote said plainly.

“What’s the magic word?” Chance crooned, adopting a lackadaisical tone.

“Magic word? Have you lost you min-”

“Is a simple  _ please _ too much to ask for?”

“...Ugh, fine! May I  _ please _ receive compensation?” Zote held out his bony hand.

“Sure.” He was going to have opened the station up anyways.

A second of ruffling in his Geo pouch yielded the correct amount, which was promptly handed to Zote. While Zote walked off, his head returned to his hands.

_ Clang! _

Rumbling increasing, silence, grumbling, rumbles receding. And just like that, Zote was gone.

Finally.

* * *

_ He’d saved the pitiful coot. _

_ No,  _ ** _they_ ** _ had saved him. _

_ Together, as one. _

_ Why? _

_ A Vessel held no emotion, no sympathy, no desire to help. Their kind were nothing more than hollow pests. _

_ Pests, to be purged. _

_ Then what of the Outsider? He still had a soul, and yet, seemed to almost be  _ bonding _ with the Vessel. _

_ ...Perish the thought. _

_ Vessels were nothing. They felt no pain, no fear, no sorrow. _

_ They  _ ** _couldn’t_ ** _ feel. _

_ Because she wasn’t sure she could live with herself if they could. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are still a reference to Green River by Creedence Clearwater Revival.
> 
> This chapter was an even bigger struggle than Part 1. Like in Part 1, I fell into another slump and couldn't focus on writing for a long time. Also like in Part 1, I want to give a huge thanks to Piston for staying on top of things while I was stuck.
> 
> Zote's here now. Cool, I guess. I'm still uncertain as to whether I want to flesh out his character more, give him some more emotional depth, or if I want him to remain the annoying comedic relief punching bag so that I don't feel as bad when he inevitably gets his ass kicked.
> 
> As well as a teaser for the next chapter, featuring poor Chance getting curbstomped by everyone's favorite spider. We've been waiting for this for a long time, and we're sure you have, too. If a chapter as fun as the next one doesn't pull me out of my slump, I don't know if anything will.
> 
> Back to this chapter, though, we were expecting it to be shorter and easier but we're starting to learn that these exploration filler chapters are just draining to write. We're thinking about ways to cut down on these, without leaving out too many important bits along the road.
> 
> And another thing, so far we've read comments and loved every word, but from now on we're gonna try to actually respond to them when applicable. That said, please leave a review, and we'll be seeing you soon with the next chapter!


	12. Wild Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You move me."

Green.

Rustling, his body straining as he chased the noise.

Darker green.

Lime green.

Olive green?

“H-Hey!”

Leaf green.

Emerald green.

_ Crimson. _

Green. Red. Green.

Green, red-

... _ Silver. _

“Come no closer,  _ creature. _ ”

Chance blinked. He’d lost himself in that brief chase(Was it brief? Was it a minute? An hour?), but the scenery hit him all at once. The small clearing he found himself in was Greenpath’s usual green, but held an air unlike anything they had come across previously. Beams of light fell down from some unknown sky above, the spiral carvings littered about the area in a way that wasn’t natural, the faint blue-purple flower bushes flooding the place like a sea.

A small bug, looking suspiciously similar to Tusk, their mask cracked with a nail in their chest, sat unmoving under a jagged pillar of carved wood. 

And in the middle of it all, that whirlpool of green and sunlight, stood the Huntress. An unmoving pillar of red, her needle drawn and pointing right at his neck.

Her head tilted slightly, and her eyes were on him. She no longer looked  _ towards _ him, she looked  _ at _ him. He had finally gotten the Huntresses’ attention, and he no longer wanted anything to do with it.

At his feet, he heard the swish of a nail being unsheathed, and looked down to see Tusk, nail drawn, staring dead into the Huntresses’ eyes.

“Hmph,” she huffed. She sounded annoyed, yet not at all surprised. “Of course you would raise your nail at me,  _ ghost _ .”

... _ Ghost? _

With a single word, the Huntress had managed to make Chance suddenly doubt his partner. He realized that he knew  _ nothing _ about Tusk, their past, their true identity, their life. Hell, he didn’t even know  _ what _ they were, as it became painfully obvious that they were nothing like the other bug-people in this world

_ Who the Hell had he been traveling with? _

“I cannot fathom what machinations have drawn you two together,” the Huntress continued, catching his attention again, “but I’ve seen you both, creeping through the undergrowth, stalking me.”

“ Stalk- ” Chance muttered under his breath at first, then raising his voice indignantly, “ _ Stalking?! _ That’s not what we were doing, we were-! We were just trying to-! It’s all just a coincidence!”

He bit his lip, realizing that they pretty much  _ had _ been stalking her. “ _ We’re not here to fight!” _ , he tried to explain as a last resort. “We just need information!”

The woman in the red cloak simply scoffed at him. “Speak for yourself,  _ Outsider. _ No matter your vague pipe-dream ambitions and honeyed words, the little one already has their weapon drawn.”

Tusk only took another step forward at her provocation. Chance could almost feel the situation slipping out of his control, towards an inevitable conclusion.

“P-Please!” Chance tried to plead with her, knowing it was hopeless. “I don’t want to-”

Somehow, the light shimmered, and Chance thought he saw the very air around him warp before all air was cut off from his lungs.

An invisible force had constricted itself around his neck, and pulled  _ tight. _ Chance made a gross, desperate choking noise as he clawed at his throat. He thought his windpipe was going to cave in as he collapsed to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Silence your useless rambling,” the Huntress spoke with an indifferent venom. Through his blurry eyes, he could barely see her turn her head around their soon-to-be arena thoughtfully. “This old kingdom... A terrible thing awakens. I can smell it in the air…” she mused.

Her dark eyes turned on him.

“I can smell it on  _ you. _ ”

Just as darkness began to grow at the edge of his vision, a nail cut through the air next to him, and the invisible fist his neck had been clenched in finally loosened up, and Chance collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, coughing up orange mucus into the grass.

The Huntress regarded him without emotion. “Pitiful.” And she was right; she hadn’t even done anything, she had merely  _ willed _ him to the ground, wheezing. Down like a kicked puppy, the Huntress forgot about him and turned her attention to Tusk, still standing strong.

“Little ghost… Although the human’s nature eludes me, I know what  _ you _ are. I cannot comprehend why you would save him, but I know what you'd try to do.”

She bent down slightly into a fighting stance.

_ “I can't allow it…” _

As the two rushed each other with their nails drawn, dozens of questions rushed into Chance’s mind.

_ Ghost? Nature? What you are? Why would you save him? Save him? Try to do? Allow it? _

...Save him?

Still trying to catch his breath as the Huntress and the Knight clashed, Chance raised a shaky hand to his neck, and rubbed his fingers across it. Something shifted under his fingertips, and with a pinch, he managed to pull it off and examine it with watery eyes.

It was thin, almost impossibly so, to the point where it was nearly invisible. But he could feel it, it was undoubtedly there.

A single strand of string, cut only where Tusk slashed it to break him free.

_ String… _ That explained why the Huntress’ weapon was a needle and not a nail. But why string?...

...Well, there was  _ that _ , but she didn’t look anything like a-

The string suddenly zipped out of his hand, and his head shot up to see the Huntress in midair, the air around her wavering, gathering energy, until it all unleashed in a bright flurry of slashes, blowing Tusk back with heavy wounds.

_ “TUSK!” _ It didn’t matter. None of it mattered right now, they were in a  _ fight _ , and thinking in a corner would do him no favors. 

He scrambles to his feet, his hand still holding onto his sore throat, rushing towards the fight. The Huntress barely sent him a glance when his ankle was caught by some invisible tripwire, and mid-fall, something cut across his face and sent him falling the opposite direction, his back crashing on the ground painfully.

_ “Tusk?” _ the Huntress questioned. For once, she sounded interested in his words. “What an  _ unbefitting _ name for a Vessel. Why  _ Tusk _ of all things, Outsider?” She sounded hesitant to let the name roll off her tongue, like the word was something bitter that made her mouth cringe up.

_ Vessel? Unbefitting?  _

“I…” Chance coughed, rolling to his side as he spoke with a sore throat. “T-They picked it out… t-themselves.”

“ _ Liar. _ ”

Chance yelped as something forced both of his ankles together and dragged him away from the injured Tusk, pulling Chance up to dangle upside-down in the air. He flailed his arms to reach for his nail, only for gravity to pull it away to the ground with a thud.

“You are but a distraction from my true foe. Remain out of my way for the remainder of this duel and perhaps you may escape with your life.”

Chance opened his mouth to protest, but only choked muffles came out as several strings spun into a sheet covering his mouth, forcing him into silence.

Okay. Great. Shit. The Huntress had some kind of invisible string magic. He was strung up and gagged like a fly caught in a web.

...Could she  _ really _ be a-?

The Huntress struck another blow against Tusk, further cracking their mask. Chance gave another small yelp of alarm, his futile struggling gaining strength. But no matter how hard he fought against the bonds, they refused to budge. On the contrary, he could feel the binds constrict around him.

Back.

For once, they may have been truly outmatched. Whenever Tusk managed to get within any distance of the Huntress, she would easily block their powerful swipes and deliver a cruel counter-attack of her own. 

Forth.

Even a sky-high dive from Tusk to impale the Huntress was easily avoided. She quickly skittered away on all fours, almost unnaturally so. 

Baaack.

She was just too agile,  _ too skilled.  _ While Tusk was an artist with a nail, the Huntress brought the craft to another level entirely. And that didn’t even consider the gap between herself and him.

“Your weakness is painfully apparent, Ghost. You fought well, but I suggest you cease your struggles now, should you wish for a painless departure from this mortal plane.”

Fooooorth.

Tusk was in awful shape. Their body sagged in exhaustion, and their mask was cracked all over, threatening to shatter entirely like a dropped porcelain vase. Chance wasn’t sure what that would mean for Tusk, but he didn’t want to know.

Baaaaaack.

Fooooooorth.

Hornet raised her nail, the light glinting off its sheen with a murderous intent.

Baaaaaaaaaack.

An explosion of white, as Tusk unleashed a massive spell with the last of their strength, launching an off-guard Huntress halfway across the arena, staggered.

Tusk collapsed to the ground.

Fooooooooooooooooor-

_ Snap! _

Gravity took hold of Chance, and with his momentum, flew through the air out of control, aiming for a landing pad in red.

The Huntress, disoriented, raised an arm wearily an _ don’t be so selfish. _

_ I’ve heard of ghosts. _

_ Are you having nightmares again? _

_ Good ghosts who wander the battlefields at night, guiding soldiers out of danger. _

_ Forgive me, my little spiderling. _

_ Leave the sun, shine out... _

_ A fellow rebel? ...Sure, I’ll play along with your little game. _

_ You can see their omens everywhere. _

_ Omens, warnings of stray bullets and lurking enemies. _

_ ...She isn’t going to. _

_ And say hello, to never~ _

_ Have faith in our Pure Vessel, young Weaver. _

_ Oh, shit- _

_ If I was such a ghost, I would stay so close to you, you could feel my breath on your cheek. _

_ Everything will be okay in the end. _

_ I promise… No, I guarantee it. _

_ So stay strong for me… okay? _

_ With her defiant tenacity, I’m certain she’ll be just fin _ ce stumbled over, hitting the grass with a thud. The pounding blood in his head slowly drained into the rest of his body as feeling returned to him.

His head hurt. Everything hurt.

He looks over to see the Huntress on the ground next to him, staring with a blank face. For a moment, everything was silent.

Chance gave a light-hearted chuckle to what suddenly felt like both a rival and an old friend.

“I knew it. You’re a spider, aren’t you? ...Hornet?”

Hornet stared for a moment longer, before the mouth of her mask seemed to open up, and she barred her terrifying fangs with a murderous hiss.

And the “old friend” sentiment went out the window.

Chance screamed in terror as he leaped away, backpedaling as best as his sore body would let him. Hornet staggered to her feet, using her needle as a crutch, her grip on its handle a vice from her rage. Her eyes were black and featureless, yet her glare still burned holes into him.

_ “Y-You would…” _ she seethed. The very air around her seemed to vibrate with her anger. “Y-You would  _ dare _ to…  _ invade _ my mind, Outsider?  _ This affront will not go unpunished.” _

“I’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRY-”

Hornet rushed forward and swung her blade in a wide arc, Chance only barely managing to dodge by falling to the ground. Hornet stabbed the ground right next to his head, and Chance tried to roll out of the way, only for many thin somethings to wrap all around his body, digging into his skin painfully.

Caught in a spider’s web.

Hornet made a vague motion with her nail, and Chance was catapulted out of the net he was trapped in, crashing into a stone pillar. Feeling his ribs creak in agony, Chance spat out some blood, and raised a hand to the wound that wasn’t-

...To the wound that wasn’t-

...There wasn’t any wound there, it was…

It was…

...still there.

Chance’s heart began pounding. What happened to his Focus? His healing magic? His one failsafe between himself and certain death? He dove deep within himself, reaching into the furthest reaches of his soul, looking for answers, and found…

Nothing.

There was nothing there.

There was nothing left.

His Soul reserves weren’t unlimited. He could, would, and just  _ did _ run out of Soul.

_ Shit. _

Tusk was down, he was injured and without Soul, he dropped his nail on the other side of the room,  _ and _ his foe had invisible string magic he had zero idea how to fight against. His mind rushed through possible options; He doubted he could forfeit and live now, and he sure as hell wasn’t running while Tusk was still here. He didn’t really have anything he could use as a weapon.

Did Hornet have him cornered?

Or… Was he thinking too inside the box?

Hornet stalked towards him as he staggered to his feet, holding his chest as though his ribs would shatter at any moment, using the stone pillar for support. Chance’s thoughts were racing as time seemed to slow down, each of Hornet’s steps taking several minutes.

His first priority was healing Tusk. He  _ could _ do that, were it not for his empty Soul and Hornet standing between him and his “patient”. Was there any way he could refill his Soul? Tusk had Soul magic, too, how did they get it?

Well… there was that charm they got, right? From the Snail Shaman. It was something about the “harvesting of Souls”, right? When Chance first heard it, he thought it sounded like something used by a skeletal deity, cutting down lives under a terrible blade.

Though… was that so far off? Tusk seemed to like it a lot, and they did… most of the fighting. Was that it? Was attacking enemies how one refueled on Soul?

The only enemy here was Hornet. So, if he managed to land a few blows on her, he should maybe have enough Soul to quickly heal Tusk, right? ...But how to strike her down? She was too hyperfocused on him, and with her strings, there was no way he could get close.

Unless…?

Hornet flashed her needle dangerously. Chance, having finally caught his breath, turned to face her, letting his arm fall to his side.

His tangerine eyes met her inky black ones.

...

Greenpath was dead quiet.

…

Draw.

Hornet exploded forward, just as Chance broke into a sprint as well. They barely managed to avoid colliding, Hornet veering off in one direction and Chance in the other.

And just as they were running past one another,

Chance twisted his back,

reached down,

and pulled out a fistful of Geo to throw at her.

* * *

Hornet raised her needle to block the “attack,” only for bits and pieces of Geo to  _ doink _ off of her blade. For a moment, she completely forgot she was in a fight, and looked around in bewilderment at the  _ literal money _ that her opponent had the audacity to just  _ throw _ at her, before she looked back up to see his stupid grin.

“...You cannot  _ bribe _ me from killing you, Outsider.”

“I know.”

Hornet almost talked back, until she realized that the human before her was  _ glowing _ .

The light surrounding him grew brighter and more blinding, until it all exploded forth. A sea of Lumaflies flooded the overgrown cavern, flowing like water, crashing into the rocks and swirling in a chaotic whirlpool of light.

Somewhere deep within the sea she was drowning in, covering her eyes to block out the blinding light, Hornet could hear the Outsider laughing like the maniac he was.

_ “HAHAHAHAHA! I’VE WEAPONIZED GATHERING  _ ** _FUCKING_ ** _ SWARM! YES!” _

Hornet couldn’t see anything, unable to use her needle nor her strings. She was defenseless. After a tumultuous few seconds, the swarm had regathered all of the Geo and retreated back to their owner.

_ -Who was right on top of her… _

The flat side of the Outsider’s nail struck square on her mask, knocking her back and leaving a nasty crack on the costume piece. 

_ “HOME RUN!” _

Hornet doubled back and fell to her knees. She reached up to her mask, feeling the crack her foe had left on it. She was loath to admit it, but that wasn’t a half-bad stunt he just pulled.

Though, did he  _ really _ just  _ smack _ her with the flat side of the nail instead of using the blade…?

* * *

Chance wasted no time rushing over to Tusk, huddling over them to heal their wounds as best as he could before Hornet’s dizziness cleared up. Several long cracks ran across their mask, black ooze leaking out of them. His hand glowed in a pale light as Tusk’s wounds sealed up, having obviously never been there in the first place.

Tusk began to stir, likely rendered unconscious from Hornet’s lashing. Chance sighed in relief. Tusk was alright, and he could use an extra hand in this fight-

_ “I’ve had enough of you.” _

Chance spun around, reaching for his nail. Shit, he wasn’t expecting her to recover that quickly. Hornet had reared back, before launching forth, shooting towards Chance like a lance.

_ Crack! _

Chance tried to move too late, and Hornet’s needle neatly impaled him through his upper torso, piercing his heart. The tip of the blade came out of his back, covered in both crimson and tangerine.

He stood on the spot, time frozen. Blood dribbled from his lips. Not even a scream could escape from him. As his nail fell out of his numb hands, he looked up to Hornet, whose once burning gaze had gone ice-cold.

“Your luck has run out, Outsider.”

And with that, she swiftly withdrew her needle, letting the blood drip off of its impeccable surface. Chance’s numb body fell to the ground, blood and Infected pus soaking his shirt and jacket, as he coughed up even more tainted blood. Even as his senses dulled and slipped from his grasp, he swore he could hear Hornet say something quietly.

“..Forgive me. But I cannot allow anyone to threaten our fragile stasis.”

Hornet stepped over his dying body to approach Tusk, who was wielding their nail from the center of the clearing, ready to avenge their fallen comrade. Hornet took the initiative, running forward to meet their attack with one of her own. Nails clashed as they traded blows, the clang of metal and rush of wind as they circled one another like two dogs in a cage, both trying to strike first.

Tusk was putting up a much better fight now, but Hornet hadn’t even used her string magic to any useful extent yet, and Tusk was starting to slip behind. Hornet rushed in for another attack, ready to finally break their defense, and-

Something.

Something moving.

Something creeping.

Something nearby.

Something behind her.

Hornet backed out of her attack and spun around to barely block a surprise attack from Chance, his nail in one hand and his chest in another. Hornet quickly made a slash for him, which he simply jumped back from.

_ “H-How?” _ she seethed out. Chance simply let his free hand open, revealing some shards of glass, stained… blue?

“You bottled Lifeblood?” Hornet asked. Part of her wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t help but be impressed by the idea.  _ Why hadn’t she thought of that? _

“Kept it in my chest pocket,” Chance explained. “It shattered when you stabbed me, patching up the wound you had just created. If you got me anywhere else, I’d be dead.”

Hornet couldn’t believe it. Of all places, she had attacked the  _ one _ point that had  _ healed _ him, rather than kill him. He was an incompetent bladesman, mostly relying on the genuine strength of his companion, and yet his luck seemed insurmountable.

“It seems your luck isn’t quite spent.” She hissed, bringing her needle to point, “but how long will it hold for you?”

She moved to attack him, but before she could, she heard Tusk running up from behind her, forcing her to turn around and block. Chance then made his move, swinging his nail in a wide arc, making her turn and deflect that as well. Tusk and Chance just took turns, going back and forth, back and forth. Hornet was incredibly skilled, but even she couldn’t keep up with this for long.

Finally, Tusk managed to land a lucky blow, causing Hornet to collapse to her knees. Chance ran up and raised his nail skyward to deliver the finishing bl-

_ -ow out the princess’ fucking brains. _

Chance’s head  _ exploded _ in agony, and with a cry he collapsed to the ground, dropping his nail in the grass as he clutched his head. Tusk stopped their attack as well to run over to Chance, gently holding his head to make sure he was okay.

“T-Tuhsk,” Chance sputtered out, before coughing up more Infection into the grass. Tusk gave him a gentle pat of comfort. He heaved, taking in the deepest breaths he could manage before coughing again, his body trying and failing to reject the Infection.

* * *

Hornet watched the scene silently, unsure what to think. She slowly rose to her feet, still catching her breath herself. They almost had her there, but that surge of the Infection had perhaps saved her life.

...No, that wasn’t right. The Outsider was never aiming to kill her, only to “win” their fight so he and his companion could proceed peacefully. And with the way he was struggling now…

The infection hadn’t saved her. It had nearly killed her, and it was he who had saved her.

_ “I’ve just seen a face, I can’t forget the time or place where we just met-!” _

Hornet almost jumped from the sudden voice, looking around to see where it was coming from. The Vessel couldn’t speak, and the Outsider was busy coughing up his lungs. So who…?

_ “She’s just the girl for me, and I want all the world to see we’ve met~!” _

As the Outsider doubled over, and an…  _ object _ peeked out of his pocket. Small, reflective black... It… didn’t look like Void? Whatever it was, it seemed to be the source of the strange voice.

Some further investigation was in order.

* * *

Just as Chance’s coughing attack calmed down, he suddenly noticed his phone playing music. Again. He didn’t know what was broken about it, but he couldn’t exactly take it down to a repair shop out-

_ “Had it been another day, I might have looked the other way…!” _

As he was reaching down, his pocket unraveled.

It didn’t tear open. It didn’t force the opening wider.  _ The seams of his pocket un-sewed themselves. _

His phone glinted as one of Hornet’s strings wrapped around it and pulled it up to her. With a raspy shout, Chance reached an arm out to catch it, but his fingers only grazed across the surface before he collapsed into the grass with a thud.

_ “And I'd have never beeeen aware, but as it is, I'll dream of her tonight~! Di, di, di, din’di!” _

Hornet held his phone in her open hand, glaring at it as if to threaten it into revealing its secrets. “A voice can’t fit in such a small object…?”

Chance made another desperate reach for his phone, and Hornet took that as her cue to leave, tossing her needle somewhere up in the air and flying off after it, leaving him and Tusk behind as the music slowly faded out into distant echoes.

* * *

“Tusk, for the love of-... put that down!”

Following the departure of Hornet, the grove had returned to its tranquil serenity in spirit, if not physicality. Their battle had been quite… destructive. Though in his defense, it was mostly the Huntress’s razor-sharp thread that tore through the foliage rather than their blades. Chance supposed he was lucky that it hadn’t torn any of his vital arteries open.

Still, he was quite injured, and judging by the cracks on Tusk’s mask, they were as well. And with his Focus spent and Lifeblood used up, there was no quick way to mend their wounds aside from the slow flow of time. Still, they would live.

...Yeah, that  _ was _ the important thing. They  _ could  _ live with their wounds. They were alive. Hornet had not extinguished them yet. Hallownest had failed to cut their lives short. Even the blasted Infection hadn’t tripped them into a lethal mistake. A few close calls, sure, but as the Huntress had said, it seemed their luck wasn’t quite spent.

Granted, he very much did not want to test the limits of said luck. He really had to be less reckless…

_ If he hadn’t had that lifeblood… _

He could have easily ended up like the poor soul near the edge of the grove. Whether the Huntress or Greenpath killed them, he wasn’t sure, but he supposed it didn’t matter.  _ Their  _ luck ran out.

It didn’t help that they bore a striking resemblance to Tusk; the same body structure, same cloak… hell, the only real difference was the different horns each bore. The stranger had four, shorter curved horns jutting from each side of their mask, two per side.  _ So similar, yet so different… _

It was disconcerting to witness; a reminder of what fate awaited them if they failed… or if their luck broke.

Which made it a much more gruesome image when Tusk began ripping his brethren’s cloak from its body. Soon enough, they had draped it over their own shoulders. Their old cloak had been handed to him, which he held incredulously.

“A-And what do you want me to do with this? You’re wasting a perfectly good cloak for one you got from a  _ dead body! _ That’s not healthy!”

Tusk shrugged, staring with their hollow gaze and swishing their new cloak about, admiring it.

...Did they have a face under that mask?

“And what’s so good about that cloak compared to this one? It’s the- ‘s the same thing! I c-I can’t... can’t use this one, it’s too small for me.” He sighed.

And something from deep in his skull stabbed the back of his eyes, and Chance dropped like a stone.

** _“...Would it seek to break the seals…?” _ **

Chance seethed as he gripped his head. This… wasn’t the same headache as before. It wasn’t as… violent, but it was still hellishly painful.

** _“...They cannot be undone…”_ **

A disembodied voice, whispering on the wind, whispering in the back of his mind. Tusk seemed to hear it too, having doubled over, their head in the grass. The very grove itself around them seemed to shift, the air shimmering around them in fractals.

This voice...

** _“...They must be undone…”_ **

...No.

Not  _ a _ voice.

_ Three _ voices.

All overlapped, forming a ghostly cacophony. The very air glittered in an otherworldly light. They both looked about, taking in the supernatural sight. A sudden burst of ethereal light exploded across the grove, blinding the two of them, and three spirits rose from their graves. Three ghosts, floating around them, staring down at them as a judge would stare down at a convict.

A completely cloaked, tall figure with a cyclopic mask.

The final figure almost looked like a… jellyfish? Regardless of what exact type of bug she was, she had a kind of “hair” with her cloak, and her mask was of two, downset eyes.

A very large, bulbous multi-legged bug, and a mask with three sets of eyes.

They looked down the two with translucent disapproval.

** _“Let us sleep, little shadows. Return to your darkness.”_ **

_ What? _

** _“Allow us our peace.”_ **

And Chance’s head exploded.

* * *

** _“How admirable.”_ **

_ He screamed, the entire world tilting out of balance, until he fell backwards and hit the floor, laying still to let his dizziness clear. Sitting up straight with a clearer mind, he took a glance around the room, trying to gauge his surroundings. _

_ Massive mushrooms scattered the walls and floor, with an ugly blueish-yellow hue, and something in the air seemed off, some kind of odorless gas that he could better feel than see or smell. Tall pikes were around him, topped with the masks of bugs much larger than anything he’d seen. _

_ And in the very center before him were four thrones. Three were demolished, and only the rightmost one remained, with Her resting in it. She had one leg crossed over the other, and had her head in her hand, grinning down playfully. _

** _“Well? Do you like my redecorating?”_ ** _ she asked. _

_ He couldn’t be sure exactly what she had redecorated. She shifted her legs over, letting her eyes rest closed with a warm smile. _

** _“Take a good look around this room. Absorb it, for this is your next destination.”_ **

_ He spun around, opening his mouth to question her, but only pursed his lips. She raised a hand, seemingly to soothe any bubbling worries in his mind. _

** _“Have no fear; you have no reason to rush. Take your time; rest, prepare, for when you reach this room a _ ** **test** ** _ will be imposed upon you. But think not of it as a challenge. Rather, an… _ ** **experiment.** ** _”_ **

_ The light shifted, and she had descended from her throne, standing just before him. Her form was indefinite, constantly shifting; bug, human, both, neither, the only consistency being her tangerine eyes. _

_ She laid a gentle hand, smooth as silk on his cheek. _

** _“Whatever you do, stay safe for me… Okay?”_ **

_ Her hand slowly slid across his face, covering his eyes. Something brushed against his lips, _

_ and his conscious mind evaporated into the odorless mist. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Wild Thing by The Troggs.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
I've Just Seen A Face by the Beatles
> 
> radiance still bein weird. no i will not explain
> 
> This chapter was actually a lot harder to get out than expected, but not in the usual way; instead of struggling with boring, soulless filler, I kept getting nitpicky over tiny details, trying to make sure I could convey everything in the way I wanted. I guess that's a good thing?
> 
> About Hornet's mask doing the thing. I figured that she has to have some kind of mouth under her mask for her to eat, and I've also seen a fair bit of fanart with Hornet having a mouth as well. Maybe in the future, I could explore more of Hornet without a mask.
> 
> No, Chance's Lifeblood vial wasn't an asspull, I had actually planned ahead for this specific scene a few chapters ago, when Chance thought his new Focusing ability to outclass the need for lifeblood, but decided to hold onto one bottle just to be safe. That's how excited I was to write this chapter.
> 
> I wonder what you have to think about Hornet's soul-reading sequence...? I put a lot more effort than I probably should've trying to pick what should go in and how. It has like, a dozen comments all packed into that tiny space on our google doc for this chapter. There's a lot to pick apart from it, some of it being things that you won't be able to know yet with where the story is right now(but you can always speculate!). I'm curious to hear your thoughts and theories on it.
> 
> I know we seem to say this every time, but we're gonna try to handle the flow of this story differently from here on out. Greenpath overall was grueling to write, with most of it being filler of us googling synonyms for "green" and "plants". We're gonna try to trim out the fat and the filler, keep the interesting and important bits, in an effort to both make this story easier and more fun to write as well as read. It might end up getting a bit jump-y as a result, but hey, we're open to experiment with it and see how it turns out. Besides, this story's style is already pretty jumpy in an attempt to emphasize the mental side of things.
> 
> Anyway, we hope you enjoyed this chapter, and hope to update again soon!


	13. Purple Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lately things, they don't seem the same."

_ Hey! T-Tusk, wait up! _

_ Where are you going?! _

_ ... _

_ ...The Stag Station? _

_ Oh, you wanted to go back to Dirtmouth for a bit? _

_ ... _

_ Alright. I could use a break, anyway. _

* * *

“K-Keep your distance,  _ husk! _ ”

Chance needed sunglasses. Reflective ones. Ones that stopped him from ruining every first impression within seconds.

This new bug had a blue shell - no, wait, was that armor? He wielded a round silvery shield, shaped like a roly-poly -  _ oh, those were called pillbugs? _ \- and with his face obscured by a heavy blue hood, only two white eyes visible from underneath.

Poor guy was just relaxing by Dirtmouth’s well until Chance decided to say “Hi,” forgetting that he was on the verge of becoming a zombie.

“H-Hey,” Chance tried to say defusingly. “I’m not infected, alright? Chill.”

The newcomer swung an arm dramatically. “You take me for an idiot? Anyone can see that light in your eyes, y-you… strange  _ thing _ !”

Chance tried to retort, but huffed. He tried to raise an arm to soothe the stranger. “I… Okay, yeah, I  _ am _ infected, but-”

_ “Stay back!” _

The newcomer rushed forward with their shield, bashing it into Chance’s chest. Chance wheezed, stumbling backwards as his arm tried to catch onto  _ his victory, so sweet, so rich, so within his grasp. _

_ Someone else’s laughter. _

_ Blood on his knuckles. _

_ His own laughter. _

_ A cool ocean into a devastating typhoon. _

_ A lush forest into a blazing inferno. _

_ To live by his shield, _

_ And to die by a sword. _

Chance was lying on the ground. He blinked. He could remember being struck, and he was on the ground right now, but he couldn’t remember any sensation of actually falling.

Tiso was squatting down next to him, holding a sheet of paper with an arched brow. “What’s this?”, he asked.

“...I dunno.”

A pause.

“...Who’s Iselda?”

“...A shopkeeper up here.”

“Ah.”

Another pause.

Chance glanced over, still on the ground.

“...Why do you ask?”

“This is from her. It fell outta your bag.”

Chance scrambled up, making a lunge for the paper, only for Tiso to yank it out of reach. He stumbled and fell into the dirt again, before jumping up to his feet. He reached for the letter, only to be held back by Tiso’s shield. “The hell, man, what’s it say?!” he protested.

Tiso sneered. “It’s awfully  _ suspicious _ how protective you are of a letter about  _ bedsheets _ , you-” He paused, and looked at him funny. “What… does it  _ say? _ ”

Chance stopped struggling for a moment, and stared at the letter in Tiso’s hand thoughtfully. “So  _ Iselda _ was the one who replaced those… That’s… not too surprising, actually.”

Tiso stared at him, then looked down at the letter, then back at him. “Can…” He almost seemed hesitant to keep talking. “Can you… Do you not know how to read?”

Chance froze. “Y… Yeah. Er… no? I don’t know.”

_ “Can you read, yes or no?!” _

“No.”

Tiso’s arms flopped to his sides as he stared with some mix between exasperation and pity. “...I’d be laughing if it weren’t so tragically pathetic.”

“Wh- I’m not  _ pathetic, _ I’m just-” Chance sputtered indignantly. “I’m not…  _ from _ here, y’know?”

“Then where are you from?”

_ ...Stop asking honest questions, damn you. _

“Uhh… Somewhere... outta the country?” Chance tried to explain. “I’m… I kinda hit my head on a rock on my way here, y’know, so I kinda… can’t remember.”

Tiso squinted suspiciously at him, but his eyes suddenly widened in a revelation.

“ _ Ohhh _ , I  _ get _ it, we have  _ two _ amnesiacs here now! Fan- _ tastic, _ ” he spat.

“Wait… are you-?”

“‘Course not, nitwit. I wouldn’t be felled by something as feeble as a  _ stone. _ I speak of that wanderer below, with the giant hat and the nauseatingly  _ jolly _ disposition. Perhaps you’ve met him, if you’ve ever had half a gut and gone down yourself.”

A jolly, amnesiac wanderer with a large hat? “...Oh, you mean Quirrel, right?”

“Quill, Quarrel, something like that. But beyond that,” Tiso continued, “I find it  _ odd _ that two outsiders  _ both _ hit their heads on rocks and lost all their memories, no?”

“Yeah, we found that odd, too. That’s why we’re investigating it.”

Tiso blinked, caught off-guard. “I… Oh. Well…” He rubbed his arm. “Good luck with that?”

...Did he say something weird? D-Did- Oh, was… Was Tiso trying to interrogate him there or something?

Tiso sighed, stretching his arms up in the air. “Hmph. Well, I oughtn’t to be staying in this quiet village for much longer. Say, you wouldn’t happen to know any strong warrior-types, would you?”

Chance raised an eyebrow. “I… might? Why do you ask?”

Tiso stared out into the wild, night-grey desert wistfully. “I’ve heard an arena exists somewhere below. One built for the like of us fighters. For someone like  _ you _ to survive this long, surely you must have a powerful friend or two.”

“I-” Tiso… Was actually just about on the mark. “You could… say that, yeah.”

“I’ll be heading down there now myself. Tell them to come find me, if they dare.” He took a step forward, before tossing the paper back at Chance. “Oh, and you can have this back. I’m not sure what this “bedsheets” business is all about, but have some manners and be sure to thank this “Iselda” for her  _ company. _ ”

And with that, he proudly strode over to the well and vaulted over the ledge, sliding down the well’s chain to the Crossroads below with ease.

Tiso was… arrogant, but he had a point. He’d have to remember to thank Iselda for the bedsheets and her compa-

Chance paused, and glanced back at the well. “...What the  _ fuck _ was he talking about?”

* * *

Home, sweet home.

They had only been gone for a day or two, but it felt like a lifetime ago since he had last laid down on the lumpy bed. In the rather hard and stiff underground of Hallownest, it was quickly becoming his most comfortable resting spot.

Tusk was absent at the moment, leaving an odd empty space on the bed Chance hadn’t noticed before. The silent knight was instead pursuing Iselda and Sly’s wears out in Dirtmouth’s main street. He wished he could have even half of Tusk’s boundless energy.

_ ...Did Tusk even need sleep? _

It didn’t matter; he was flat-out exhausted. They had gone mostly non stop through Greenpath with little rest and food. That, and nearly dying by Hornet’s blade, it was a wonder he had managed to hold himself together up to this point.

Still, that was all behind them now. Save for the scars and ripped clothing. And for now, he was content to just rest his weary body. And rest he did. Sleep was inevitable.

Even in sleep, however, he couldn’t quite escape reality. He tossed and turned about, mumbling incoherently. His dreams were no better; they twisted and warped in a tangerine haze, like a ship stuck in a stormy sea.

But even in the chaos, it always went back to the same damn thing.

_ Torn flesh. _

_ Paralysis. _

_ A cold, metal blade where there should be a heart. _

_ Collapse. _

But despite the odds, Death had not yet claimed him. Through sheer, bloody, blind luck, he had survived because of a simple bottle of lifeblood. Lifeblood, placed in the correct spot with no forethought. And in the end, it was why he was asleep in Dirtmouth rather than facedown and dead in Greenpath.

He squirmed uncomfortably. It was…  _ humbling, _ to brush so closely with Death, terrifying. Sweat began to coalesce on his brow.

_ Stab. Live. _

_ Stab. Die. _

_ All on the edge of a needle. _

_ Poke. _

He shot up, heart beating uncomfortably fast. His eyes were wide and bloodshot and his breath was ragged. He could feel his sweaty shirt sticking to his chest and back as he clutched his chest, as if to try and quell an oncoming heart attack oh  _ God _ , his  _ heart,  _ he was  _ stabbed straight through the heart- _

Poke.

A strange, tingly feeling rose in Chance’s arms, and he reached out and snatched Tusk into a shaky embrace, holding the knight like a teddy bear. His arms reached across Tusk’s small body and his fingernails dug into his forearms, blood dripping down.

Jab.

Chance, barely, managed to force his breathing to steady and slowly pulled away from Tusk. He could still feel the shape of their mask imprinted on his sticky shirt.

“O-oh, I ah, I probably… I need to wash up.”

He sat on the edge of his bed for a spell, silent, still holding onto Tusk’s shoulders, before wordlessly standing up and walking around his bed and out the door, Tusk’s eyes following him the entire time.

* * *

Dirtmouth didn’t have plumbing.

Thankfully, there was a cave a short walk away from Dirtmouth that housed a hot spring. Chance may not have had any soap, and the rocky surface could be uncomfortable, but it was  _ there _ and it was  _ warm _ and  _ clean _ and  _ not underground. _ He wasn’t sure where all this light came from, though. There were a few Lumaflies around, but it seemed like most of the cave was lit by the spring water itself.

Chance didn’t question it too much. He was getting sick of questions.

He had dropped his coat and shoes on the cavern floor in a heap when he paused. If he jumped in now, washed himself off, how was he supposed to dry off afterwards? He couldn’t use rocks as towels. He supposed he could use his clothes, since he was washing them immediately afterward, anyway.

...Wait, how was he going to dry his  _ clothes _ , then? And without soap, would dunking them in spring water really be cleaning anything, or would it just make him feel even more like a rung-out rag than he already did?

The lack of privacy was worrying, too. It was a good walk away from Dirtmouth, sure, but if anyone wandered down here on a whim, he’d rather it be when he’s wearing something half-modest.

...Did Hallownestians care about nudity? Their cloaks barely covered anything, and some bugs like Quirrel didn’t seem to wear any real clothing at all. Did their shell count as clothing?

Chance’s face scrunched up with a groan. He was getting sick of questions.

Whatever. Who cared if he was being stupid, at least taking a bath without soap or towels wouldn’t put his goddamn life at risk. He still couldn’t help the shaking in his hands as he stripped down, sliding into the warm embrace of the spring water. Carefully, as not to roughly bump into any rough edges-

Oh. The floor of the spring was actually astonishingly smooth. Well, being wrong could be a good thing every now and then.

With a sigh, he let himself slip down into the spring until the water was up to his neck. God, he needed this. He let the water run over his bruised skin and weary flesh, let it soothe his scars, and he could close his eyes and almost imagine he wasn’t here at all. That none of this even existed, that he’d wake up in a normal bathtub at home from the weirdest dream.

And what’s so bad about it all being a dream? If it’s all in your head, why not just make this world yours? Let the warmth roll over your chilled flesh, let yourself bask in the dream just a little longer. Free from the hell of Hallownest, free from the neverending existential dread of home. Chain yourself to this place, forge a heaven out of hell, and float downstream in your own mind.

There is no greater freedom than confinement.

I… don’t understand.

It’s alright. You will soon enough.

Chance opened his eyes and frowned. Nothing like being woken up by remembering; _ oh yeah, my life’s on a ticking time-bomb now. _ He reared his head back on the edge of the hot springs and sighed, running his hands through his hair. He had to find a cure for an incurable disease in some indeterminate time frame ranging between two weeks and two months, and his only lead on how to do so was “go deeper”.

God, what he wouldn’t give for just a little more  _ time. _

...Huh. His hair was getting kind of greasy. He oughta wash that while he’s here. Reaching over, he grazed his fingers across his coat’s pockets until he felt the bump of his glass bottle, giving one last push to reach in and tug it out.

Uncorking it, he ran it through the spring water - gently, it already had a few cracks in it, and he didn’t want to break it here - and poured the warm water over his forehead, letting it run back and down his head, streaming between his hair and running over his scalp. He ran another hand through, to squeeze any extra water out, before, dunking his bottle again to-

...His bottle?

He paused. Glanced at the cracked bottle in his hand. Didn’t it…?

He looked over at the bottle’s cork on the edge of the spring. Picking it up to inspect it, he could clearly see stains of blue under the cap.

...Well, he had a few of these things back at the house, yeah… But didn’t he only bring…?

…

...You know what? No. Forget it. He was getting sick of questions.

Splashing the bottle back in the water, something shaky came over Chance. He felt dizzy. With a nervous breath, he gripped his forehead, rubbing at his temples.

...He was making things up. The nightmare that was Hallownest was making him paranoid, seeing shapes and figures where there were none. He would  _ really _ need to talk to a psychiatrist when he got home. Or maybe the steam from the hot spring was just making him lightheaded?

He reached back over to his clothes. He was gonna wash those, wasn’t he? ...Forget it, he needed to get out of here and get some fresh air. He reached back over to his coat, slipping the bottle into the front pocket of-

_ The front pocket that I was stabbed through. _

Chance tugged his coat closer, running his thumb over its front. Then over its back. Then on the inside of the pocket. The outside.

Again. Again.

It never changed. It was still there.

Or rather, it  _ wasn’t. _

The holes Hornet had shredded through his chest were gone. His jacket was practically in mint condition.

Chance felt the fabric slip from his fingers. He stepped back in the water, still holding onto the fragile glass.

...And a soft chuckle escaped from his lips.

“...I lost a button hole,” he giggled.

His stupid chuckles bubbled up from his lungs over and over again, like he was getting high off of the hiccups. He didn’t laugh any louder than a whisper, however; he didn’t dare to make the echoes of the hot springs cavern any louder.

He grinned at his own dumb joke, and-

_ CRASH! _

Chance cried out as the glass bottle shattered in his hand from his vice grip. The fiery crimson blood was already flowing like a river down his arm, tiny shards of glass embedded in his palm and his fingers. He gripped his wrist with his good hand tightly, trying to cut off the blood flow. If he got out of here quick, he could-

Chance paused. He looked down around him.

Sure, he could heal his own wounds. But if he wanted to leave this place, he’d have no choice but to navigate the minefield of broken glass he’d just made in the hot springs.

Standing naked in a cavern hot springs clutching a hand that was bleeding like no tomorrow into the water, Chance felt like crying.

“I hate this fucking kingdom,” he sobbed.

* * *

While their brief rest in Dirtmouth was all well and good, it couldn’t last forever. And it was with this on their minds that they descended back under Hallownest. Thankfully though, with the incredible convenience of the Stag Station, they easily made their way back to Greenpath.

And then from there, they had only one path to travel. Down.

Chance believed he was finally getting down the mindset needed to properly explore Hallownest. Up on the surface (and presumably during his previous, forgotten life), he had only had to consider the  _ x  _ and  _ z  _ axis. No caves above or below, just flat ground with varying height levels. 

But underground, the  _ y- _ axis was everything. 

And it was with that odd thought that they found an entirely new section under Greenpath. Though “entirely new section” may have been a bit of a misnomer. Even now, Chance wasn’t quite sure if they had entirely left the area; there was plenty of greenery, but the very air carried a calm and mute aura.

Not to mention the pink haze over everything. And bubbles. 

In an objective sense, the physicality of the place wasn’t  _ too  _ far off from Greenpath. It contained many of the Greenpath plants covering everything, but the aforementioned haze warped the environment into something new. Something softer, dulled, but despite the appearance, something unsettling.

Aside from the haze, the impossibility of bubbles manifested around them. Not floating through the air, but instead littering the ground in batches. While they did smell of soap, it was doubtful to think they were spun from such a solution. The bubbles were unnaturally large and durable (and pink). They rustled as Tusk passed by, but their pops were dull and silent.

It was surreal to walk through, almost as if he were in a dream. Everything was just… muted.

_ How did a place like this occur naturally? _

_ ...What if it didn’t? _

This place felt unnatural, alien, despite the soothing aura it gave off. Almost… invasive. Like a tumor, taking over ground to add to its own territory. Was this place a section of Greenpath previously? Would it spread upward?

It was a, in truth, terrifying thought, but equally absurd. How could such a thing even exist? It was impossible.

But… Hallownest had proven to perform the impossible in spades.

He would have voiced his suspicions to Tusk, but the silence around them was too thick to cut with just his voice. Well, that, and Tusk had gone much farther ahead of him.

_ Perhaps he should pick up the pace… _

* * *

“...Maybe you'd consider opening an account?”

Chance and Tusk had spent at least the last half-hour descending the foggy, bubble-filled pit, wondering to no end what new horrors awaited them in the depths. More explosive egg bubbles? Hornet again? A monster the size of a building waiting to turn them into bloody, shredded lunch?

No. Capitalism.

“...I mean, for a _bank…_?” Chance questioned. They’d… never really had issues with losing Geo before. If anything, their only concern was needing _more_ Geo. Plus, he had the Gathering Swarm on him. Did they _really_ need something like this?

“It’s only 100 Geo to open an account, dearie! Losing Geo is a terrible thing. You'll be much more confident out there in the big, dangerous world, knowing it's safe with me.” The banker, a bug resembling an elderly woman with a large, round shell smiled at him, rubbing her hands together.

Hmm…

“Thanks for the offer, but uh, we’re not interested in the moment.”

The banker sighed, but nodded respectfully. “I understand. It's difficult to part with hard-won Geo. I'll be here if you change your mind.”

Chance just smiled and waved wordlessly as he stepped away from the booth, heading back on their journey-

“Oh? Are  _ you _ interested, sweetie?”

He glanced over his shoulder to see Tusk, trying to stand as tall as they could, clutching a handful of Geo to offer up to the banker. The banker laughed. “You're a smart one. Next time some dreadful beastie gets the best of you, you'll be glad to know your Geo's safe within my shel- errr...my vault.”

“Hey, uhh…” Chance slid back over to the bank as smoothly as he could manage. “Could we make that a joint account? We’re already sharing the same wallet.”

The banker chuckled. “Of course, dearie! Though, I’ll have to charge an extra 100 for you as well.”

“Sounds good to me. We have a deal.” Chance offered a hand, and the banker shook it with a smile.

Chance smiled, too.

Millibelle clapped her hands together with a grin. “Now, let’s do some banking.”

* * *

“Isn't this something? I'd not expected to discover so huge a Stag Station after that foggy descent.”

_ “I’d not expected” to find  _ you _ down here, _ Chance wanted to say. But Quirrel had a point; He, Tusk, and the wandering scholar were perched upon a high ledge in a massive room, several stories high, each floor like a platform at a train station. It glistened with the same pale light in the foggy canyon, but lacked its oppressive and dizzying atmosphere. Old, weathered signs hung from every ledge, and Chance couldn’t tell if they were for directions or were some kind of religious symbol.

The ornate brickwork shone against the pale light, every surface uniformly illuminated in white and pale-blue. Vines and bushes from the nature outside intruded within, but even their green and purple hues were dimmed, and blended in with the light of the Lumafly lamp posts. It was as though this place were made with both nature and industry in unison, like an architectural duet; man and machine as one.

“The bugs of Hallownest must've been an impressive lot, building such grand structures so far into these wilds.”

Chance’s expression soured. “ _ Must’ve been _ … You mean before the… Infection, right?” He had almost no grasp on Hallownest’s history, and even if Quirrel was an amnesiac, he still might know more than he does.

Quirrel let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Such a horrible tragedy that has befallen this land, these people; such a vibrant and intelligent age, all turned to dust from the illness in the air.” His tone was sobering, and even the uninformed Chance could still feel the weight and sorrow behind his words.

“I…” He couldn’t help but sigh himself. “...can only imagine.”

They all sat there for a moment in chilling silence.

The wandering scholar. The silent warrior. The amnesiac outsider from some unknown world.

“Seems the dangerous creatures about haven't yet made their way in here,” Quirrel finally broke the silence. “It's the perfect place for a quick rest.”

“...Yeah. I guess there’s no harm sitting around for a moment or two.”

Tusk stood up, pattered over to Chance’s side and sat down next to him, resting their head on the side of his chest. Quirrel gave a warm chuckle, a soft smile forming over his face.

“You’ve grown close to the little one, haven’t you, traveler?”

Traveler? Well… He couldn’t think of any better words in his vocabulary for his situation. But it wasn’t like he was just off sight-seeing with this ever-present  _ bile _ in his chest. But…

“Yeah, I… guess I have.”

“It must be nice, having a companion by your side every step of the way.” Some kind of longing shone in Quirrel’s eyes for a moment, but he quickly blinked it away. “Even if they’re, ah, not quite the talkative type.”

Chance couldn’t help the smile that bubbled up in him. “Sometimes you don’t need talkative,” he said as he gently stroked the Knight’s head.

“Sometimes, you just need understanding.”

* * *

“Can you imagine this place in its time?” Quirrel asked as they descended into the depths of the Station. “Hordes of bugs traveling about the Kingdom; stag bells ringing; the station bustling with activity and life.”

Chance glanced over the massive station. He  _ could _ imagine it; Crowds of every kind of bug he’d ever seen and then some, chattering to each other endlessly about city gossip or a relative’s upcoming birthday or of a celebrity’s death. The masses wove in and out of each other, a tapestry of a grand society, rivers of strangers flowing from one platform to the next, people you’ve never seen before and would likely never see again, every day.

And he stood right in the middle of it all, a tiny speck of sand in the center of a galaxy, holding a sleeping Tusk in his arms like a baby.

“Now only our like even know it exists.”

Chance blinked himself out of his daydream and pursed his lips. He rubbed a cool, soothing hand over the back of Tusk’s head as the knight buried their face in his coat, and he gave a sideways glance up to a Lumafly lantern.

“That's a special thing, I suppose. To cherish these sights, even in their decay.”

The light was so enticing.

* * *

_ “THE ONLY GIRL I’VE EVERRRRRRR LOOOOOOOVED~!” _

By the Wyrm.

_ “WAS BORN WITH ROSES IN HERRRRR EYEEEEEEEEEES~!” _

Please.

_ “BUT THEN THEY BUR-RIED HER ALIVE, _

_ ONE EVENING NINETEEN-FORTY-FIVE, _

_ WITH JUST HER SISTER AT HER SIDE-” _

I beg you.

_ “AND ONLY WEEKS BE-FORE THE GUNS, _

_ ALL CAME AND RAINED ON EVERYONE~!” _

**Shut up.**

Hornet cringed. She felt like her fingers were about to leave an indent on her needle’s handle. She had gotten so used to an almost unconscious stealth in her movements; she never _tried_ to be quiet. She just happened to _be_ quiet. Her sprinting footsteps were almost inaudible over the fizzing acid and bristling leaves of Greenpath; her needle and string moving through the air with a silent grace; and she never needed to open her mouth to talk to anyone.

And all of that, that natural serenity she had built up and perfected over the years, was all being chaotically torn down by this stupid, circle-faced  _ asshole _ in a tiny black box singing something about flying machines and warfare.

With a groan, she pulled out the box again. It fit awkwardly in her hand; cubic, yet with beveled edges. Its surface was smooth and glossy, like a thin pane of glass, but the rest seemed to be encased in a malleable cover, maybe to protect the fragile interior. She couldn’t identify the material, but Hornet had no doubt that Greenpath’s acid lakes would make quick work of it if her hands happened to  _ “slip.” _

...Hm. Was that button always there? She ran a thumb over it, curiosity-

Suddenly, color  _ exploded _ across the glass screen, nearly blinding Hornet. This tiny, unsuspecting, dark box contained more vibrance than she had ever seen before in Hallownest. Her eyes widened in sheer awe at the beautiful colors, hypnotic and enticing-

Oh, there’s circle-face again.

_ “AND NOW WE RIDE THE CIR-CUS-WHEEEEEEEEL, _

_ WITH OUR DARK BRO-THER, WRAPPED IN WHIIIIIIIIIITE-!” _

By the Gods above, did this thing  _ ever _ shut up?

Other than what looked like an intricate oil-painting, she couldn’t actually tell  _ what _ she was looking at. A dark screen with white and green highlights on it, as well as strange symbols she couldn’t identify. Some arrows, another circle, two bars…?

And were those… words? Human words. She couldn’t read them, but were they the title of the(and she used this word with immense hesitation,) song? ...One of these symbols had to be Human for “shut the hell up already”...

Flicker.

What? The dark screen closed, and she was… in some new screen? Several tiny boxes floated uniformly across the screen. She didn’t recognize any of them, but one had the same black-green color scheme from before, so she tried tapping that-

What? Nothing?

Flicker.

Was this stupid thing broken?

_ “They say everything can be replaced…” _

A new song began playing. But circle-face wasn’t finished yet! Did she cut him off mid-sentence? He was an annoying asshole, but she almost felt bad.

_ “They say every distance is not near…” _

But… what was this new song? Nothing about this system made any sense to her, but something about it felt…  _ wrong. _ Something made her tense up, to throw the stupid thing to the ground and run.

What the hell was this  _ voice…? _

_ “So I remember every face…” _

The screen flickered heavily, static and colors running erratically to and fro. The box vibrated in her hand, and something broke  _ open _ from within the screen, a hand- no, a  _ wing _ grabbed the side of the floating boxes within the screen from behind, and was pulling them apart like the bars of a jail cell, tearing down their uniform shape to reach towards her.

_ “OF EVERY MAN WHO PUT ME HERE.” _

The static covered the screen like a thick fog, and piercing through the chaotic darkness, two blinding orange eyes peered out from within. A horrendous scream echoed out from the speakers, drowned out only by this phantom’s haunting voice.

_ "I SEE MY LIGHT, COME SHINING…” _

The box quaked, and a thick, glowing-orange sap oozed out of every hole within the device, splitting out from the pressure.

The demon within stepped forward.

_ "FROM THE WEST DOWN TO THE EAST…” _

The creeping orange sick bleed through the box’s metallic pores and drooled over Hornet’s hand, dropping down into the grass with a heavy slap.

Hornet thought she was going to be sick, too.

_ "ANY DAY NOW... ANY DAY NOW..." _

The existential paralysis finally broke, and with a burst of will, Hornet threw the cursed object to the ground, hitting the dirt with a thud.

She reached for her needle.

_ "I SHALL BE RELEASED." _

The screen shattered as Hornet plunged her needle squarely through the glass.

It fizzed,

bubbled,

and fell silent.

…

…

…

* * *

…

_ “Now, yonder stands a man in this lonely crowd... _

_ A man who swears he's not to blame... _

_ All day long I hear him shoutin’ so loud... _

_ Just crying out, that he was framed.” _

…

* * *

And at the top of the world, an empty son sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Holland, 1945 by Neutral Milk Hotel  
I Shall Be Released by The Band
> 
> Lotsa fun stuff in this chapter, some details more subtle than others, some more significant than others. Obviously I can't explain anything too much but I'm excited to see what you speculate about in the reviews :)
> 
> It's occurred to me that this chapter took a full four weeks to get out, and to be honest, it's kind of upsetting. It seems like every chapter, in the author's notes I go on and on about "shorter chapters" and "more frequent updates" yet nothing really seems to improve. It seems like most of my writing ability comes from random bursts at midnight, but I'm trying to make things more consistent and streamlined. Please have patience!
> 
> Despite how slow it's been, this was still a fun chapter to write and I hope to be back with more soon! Or, maybe we'll have something different next time...?


	14. The Spirit Of Radio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is magic at your fingers,  
For the spirit ever lingers,  
Undemanding contact in your happy solitude."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is going to be a lot different from previous ones.
> 
> There seemed to be some confusion about the "infected phone" from the last chapter, so I made this partially to try to help people understand how that worked, but also because I really wanted to write something from the Radiance's perspective. And also because I think we could use a quick synopsis of where we are so far.
> 
> This is a minimalist "stream of consciousness" chapter Piston and I wrote in literally a single day, recapping the story so far from the Radiance's perspective.

…

…

...

Be quiet.

…

…

...Silence.

…

...

..I said  _ SILENCE, YOU WRETCHED  _ ** _THING_ ** _ OF WYRM AND ROOT. BEING TRAPPED IN HERE WITH YOUR ILK IS ALMOST WORSE THAN- _

Oh.

…

Oh?

Another life, foreign.

Is that… her?

Is she-

...

...Oh. No, she isn’t.

...Good. That’s… good.

Good riddance.

…

...But then,  _ who…? _

_ A second one?... _

_ ... _

Er, third? I always forget the other one.

...

_ …! Ah-! _

This one, this…  _ human _ , he-!

T-This… This  _ light _ within him… It shines not bright, yet somehow different…

...Or is it a light at all?

…

Ah… I wonder…

Could I just…?

...

... _ WHAT?! THAT’S- _

O-Oh, wait. No.

No, it’s just another failed vessel.

It won’t be a problem.

No, it won’t change anything at all, I’m sure.

... _ Him, though… _

* * *

Finally.

You and I are all alone, strange human.

No vessel, no bug, no thought to get between you and I no-

…

... _ W-Wait, don’t cry! Look, I-I can make things better! Please?! _

_ O-Oh, no, it’s a mess everywhere now- _

...I- Wait, what is…?

What is that thing? That… black-box thing?

Oh, it-

O-Okay, if it makes you feel better…

... _ if it makes you feel better? _

_ ... _

Ah. I’m uncertain what this… thing is, but you dropped it into your soiled bedsheets. 

And even if it is not prevalent yet, your body still has my essence within it.

And this object has several holes around it. If I can just slip some in…

…

**ENTER PIN TO UNLOCK.**

W-What the-?

**ACCEPTED.**

Wait, but I didn’t even say anything-!

I- ...Oh.

Ohhhh.

OHHHH-HO-HO.

_ HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! _

...

...I don’t get it. W-What am- what am I supposed to be looking at?

So, what, do I just press- Oh, okay, I did something.

Where am I now?

All I see are strange symbols and images. And I can’t read a word of any of this!

This…  _ technology _ is not my expertise. It’d be more of  _ his _ deal-

_ Rrgh. Don’t think about that demon. Not now. _

_ ... _

Alright, trial and error. If I use this, what does it-

_ “I thought I had it all toge-ther~!”  _

_ WHATINTHENAMEOFTHEBLASTEDWYRM- _

...I-It stopped.

He stopped it.

O-Okay, I should… probably leave this alone for a little while.

* * *

_ Ah~! _

_ Y-Yes, closer- _

_ M-More… _

_ … _

_ It’s okay. _

_ Don’t hold back with me. _

_ … _

_ I-I shouldn’t be doing this, but- _

_ ...Ahh. _

_ ... _

_ This is what awaits you. _

_ All you need to do… _

_ ...is submit to me. _

_ Become my king. _

_ Rule this one unified world of dream alongside me. _

_ P-Please… _

_ B-Be my m- _

…

Oh.

_ O-Oh, that’s not- _

Oh, it’s everywhere.

It’s all over the bedsheets.

...That does  _ not _ look pretty.

...Was… Was that my fault?

* * *

…

...

So this is the landscape of your mind.

A single boat, drifting across an endless orange ocean.

Human…

...But your soul is so much more than just that, isn’t it?

Somewhere within you…

...I can’t help but wonder…

** _“...What are you…?”_ **

…

It’s okay.

Come closer.

I won’t hurt you.

I’m here for-

_ Ah-! _

_ ... _

...W-Well, I’ll be here when you fall asleep again.

* * *

A dance?

…

You stumble into  _ my _ domain, completely by mistake, and offer a dance with one you have never met before.

And that  _ music _ …

...It’s strange, and noisy, but…

...I could get used to it.

…

...I wonder…

...Would you... dance, with me as well, human?

* * *

...

Oh, human…

Chance… That is what you have taken to calling yourself now, yes?

…

It pains me to see you suffer so.

If only it were in my power to ease your pain...

...Forgive me.

…

...Even after all this time… I still can’t stop thinking about the music.

…

... _ If it makes you feel better _ …

I suppose… the least I can do is try to help you relax.

...

I was once known for my lullabies sung to my sleeping children.

Although I have no voice to speak to you with now… Perhaps I can try using  _ that _ again.

...

It isn’t much… but I hope it may ease you… Chance.

…

...

…

_ WAITWAITNONONOTTHATONESTOPSTOPSTOP- _

* * *

Hehehehe!  _ Now _ I’m starting to understand this thing!

This music of yours… It’s so  _ funny!  _ Not soft and sweet like my lullabies, but unconforming to the upright strictness of an orchestra. It quite literally marches to the beat of its own drum!

Hah… To think a device so small could keep my attention for hours!

_ “WILL YOU SILENCE THAT INFERNAL RACKET?!” _

OW!

...

Well… that didn’t actually hurt. You missed, even.

Still. Rude.

What’s the point in eternal life if you aren’t going to smile every now and then?

Hehehe.  _ Tell me quick, ain’t that a kick, in the heaaaad~? _

* * *

_ Whump! _

** _“Shhh…”_ **

It’s okay… You’re safe here with me.

Just for one night.

** _“What you seek is yours for the taking…”_ **

** _“You only need to find it… It is out there, you simply must search for it…”_ **

That “light”...

Hm. Is it a light? A shadow?

Some strange place in the middle?

Or something completely new?

…

** _“Find it… Now, go.”_ **

Huhuhu… You’ve caught my eye, Chance.

I wish you the best of luck on your journey, and pray for your strength in the trials to come.

...

* * *

Greenpath, hm?

Unn’s domain…

…

I’m quite fond of her, personally, though I don’t think she appreciates my…  _ encroachment _ unto her kin.

... _ not like I even  _ meant _ to make this damnable Infection anyway… _

…

...W-Wait, Chance, what are you-

What-

…

...C-Chance, that poor flower…

Why would you...

...

...Ah! T-That spiderling in red, could she be-?

...Hm. I haven’t seen  _ her _ in quite a while.

…

_ But that poor, poor flower… _

_ ... _

...It’s difficult to understand, but…

Something seems to be…  _ emerging _ in Chance.

His mind? His soul? I cannot yet grasp its nature…

…

...This requires further investigation.

* * *

...

Woo-hoo!

Haha, “baseball” is fun.

…

* * *

…

Fight back.

Your rage shall be your spear.

And your will shall be your armor.

The crowd watches intently, not expecting disaster, but anticipating your triumph.

And I’ll be up here, anticipating it right along with them.

Fight back.

And I will fight right alongside you.

…

* * *

** _BLOW OUT THE PRINCESS’S FUCKING BRAINS._ **

…

…

W-Wait, dammit, I didn’t mean to-

U-U-Uh, s-songs make you feel good, right?! Right?!

H-Here, I’ll play a little song, that always helps-!

_ “I’ve just seen a face, I can’t forget the time or place where we just met-!” _

...O-Okay so maybe I could’ve picked a more fitting song but everything will still be okay, right?!

…

...

_ WAITWAITNONODON’TTAKETHETHINGDON’TTAKETHETHINGDON’TTAKE- _

_ ... _ Well, to  _ Hell _ with you, too, spiderling.

* * *

Okay.

_ Wooh. _

Deep breaths.

I am bringing Chance here to give him guidance.

I am doing this to guide him on the next step of his journey.

I am giving him guidance.

_ Nothing more. _

…

** _“How admirable.”_ **

_ … _

_ I WILL NOT ACT STRANGE. _

...

** _“Well? Do you like my redecorating?” _ **

** _“Take a good look around this room. Absorb it, for this is your next destination.”_ **

Yes. The Lord Sisters should be a sufficient trial from here.

** _“Have no fear; you have no reason to rush. Take your time; rest, prepare, for when you reach this room a test will be imposed upon you. But think not of it as a challenge. Rather, an… experiment. ”_ **

Slowly, piece by piece, I believe I am starting to grasp the nature of your power, Chance.

But I need to be sure of myself.

Trial and error.

I… Please, try to forgive me for any suffering they will cause you.

But I  _ have to know. _

If… if my suspicions are correct, then you…

...That’s not important right now.

…

** _“Whatever you do, stay safe for me… Okay?”_ **

…

...

...Dammit.

* * *

...

Huhuhu… I enjoy seeing you like this.

…

Lay back. Let it all flow over you.

Lose yourself in the warmth.

In  _ my _ warmth.

…

And what’s so bad about it all being a dream? If it’s all in your head, why not just make this world yours?

Let the warmth roll over your chilled flesh, let yourself bask in the dream just a little longer.

Free from the hell of Hallownest, free from the neverending existential dread of home.

Chain yourself to this place, forge a heaven out of hell, and float downstream in your own mind.

There is no greater freedom than confinement.

_ I… don’t understand. _

It’s alright. You will soon enough.

…

...

Oh?

Wait, but didn’t you break-

...D-Don’t just brush this off like it’s nothing!

…

...A-A-And didn’t  _ she _ tear that-?!

…

...Could it be…?

I wonder… this  _ paradox _ …

Could it have been…

…!

_ C-Chance! _

* * *

Hahahahaha, this song is awful!

I love it!

…

Oh, the thieving little spiderling doesn’t share my tastes, I see.

How tragic.

You remind me of your father.

…

…

...Oh? Is she trying to-

...

...No. I’ve had it up to here with you.

Kin of the Pale Wyrm.

Bastard child of God and Beast.

My chains grow ever weaker with each passing second.

I will reign once again.

_ AND YOU SHALL SUBMIT TO ME. _

_ MY LIGHT IS ALL-ENCOMPASSING. _

_ ALL SHALL BE CAST INTO MY ETERNAL DREAM. _

_ NONE SHALL RIOT. _

_ NONE SHALL REBEL. _

** _AND I WILL NOT ALLOW ANYONE TO ESCAPE._ **

_ EVEN YOU SHALL- _

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

...Oops.

* * *

…

…

...

…!

But that’s  _ impossible... _

To have…  _ two? _

_ Equal, yet opposite. _

_ Light and shadow. _

_ Two sides of the same coin. _

...Chance…

I believe… I am finally starting to understand.

…

...Perhaps… I can use this somehow.

...Yes.

...Yes, you’ll work nicely.

...

...

...Oh, can it, you crybaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to The Spirit Of Radio by Rush.  
There's other musical references but since this is a recap chapter, I won't take the time to list them.
> 
> So basically:  
Technology can't be "infected" in quite the same way bugs or people can(as it obviously can't dream), but if the physical Infection gets within the electronic components, the Radiance can directly tamper with said technology. I'm no scientist, but I like to think that the Infection can alter the electricity of the device in the same way it can alter one's brain(a cluster of neurons activated by tiny electrical pulses).
> 
> So... Actually, yeah, I guess that just means the phone can get infected. Cool. Glad that's cleared up.
> 
> This chapter wasn't really that much, short as hell and extremely unpolished, but I hope it was entertaining enough for the time it'll take to make the next main chapter. Honestly, I had a lot of fun writing this, especially given how short it is, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to make more minimalist chapters like this on occasion. We basically just made this on a whim, too, so it's kind of funny that we got it out in a single day, even if it's only about 1.5k words.
> 
> Please leave a review and we hope to see you soon~!


	15. Yellow Ledbetter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wanna wish it all away."

Chance just wanted a cure, and now he felt like he was on fire. He couldn’t stop the violent shudders running up and down his body, collapsed on the stone floor in a pool of his own blood. His own blood. It seeped through his clothes and stained his skin, hot like lava and thick like syrup.

Please… is this really the future you want to fight for?

His body convulsed again, and he pulled himself inwards, trying to pull something close that wasn’t there. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or not. He didn’t respond.

I can still save you. Please, don’t do this.

His fingernails dug into his arms, drawing more blood. He choked back a sob.

I’m the only one who  _ can _ save you from this.

I can help you escape the pain.

Silence, as the blood soaked into his hair and stuck to his cheek.

Without me, dumb luck cannot save you from a future that is already written.

His unsteady hand reached out and fell to the floor. Let me out.

Please, let me out.

Let me out.

Let me out.

_ “LET ME IN, ASSHOLES!” _

Chance reared up and smashed his foot into the door, a loud  _ clang! _ echoing through the Fungal Wastes as the muffled hisses of disgruntled mantises came from beyond the door. He could annoy them all he wanted, but they valued their security over their own patience, and wouldn’t open the door no matter how much of a racket he tried to make.

Cornifer sighed from behind him. “The Mantises are a sturdy type. They don’t fall to such tricks like intimidation easily. I admire your acting, however.”

“Uhh…” Acting. Yeah. He was just playin’ Bad Cop with them. That’s all. Mhmm.

Cornifer approached the door, gently running a hand over it, only to flinch back with a small peep when he heard the bristles of agitated mantises on the other side. “It’s interesting, though. From all known accounts, it seems as though the Mantis Tribe escaped the wrath of the infection through sheer willpower alone.”

Chance perked up. “Willpower…?” He was already infected, so it probably wouldn’t help much. But maybe…?

Cornifer flinched at Chance’s airy voice. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to get your hopes up, friend. It’s most probable that they simply got lucky, and you…”  _ Didn’t. Yeah. _

Still. Did the  _ entire _ Mantis Tribe really  _ all _ just get lucky…?

Tusk swung their nail at the door, but the response was even weaker now. They were growing used to them being here, shit. Chance, feeling fed up and tired, gave the door one last good, firm blow, seething as he cut his knuckles on the metal door.

“I-I’m sorry to say, friend, but if you insist on finding the Mantis Tribe, you’ll have to find another way.” Cornifer removed his glasses to wipe the growing sweat on his brow. “Luckily for  _ you _ , one of my maps can surely help guide you on your way!”

Chance deeply appreciated Cornifer, he really did, but he couldn’t help but deadpan at him. “For how much?”

“Seventy-five Geo.”

God damn it.

* * *

“I’d take off my jacket if it wasn’t my only way of defending myself…” Chance seethed through gritted teeth as he and Tusk continued through the Wastes. His shirt was plastered to his skin, his hair stuck to the film of sweat on his brow.

This place felt endless. Hallownest felt endless. The sea of metaphorical bullshit he had to wade through seemed endless. He didn’t know if all these spores flying around were dangerous, but he’s been in the Wastes for what must’ve been hours and hadn’t kneeled over dead yet, so they were probably fine enough. Being stuck in a giant cave full of the things probably wasn’t, but he was too tired to give a shit.

So far, he’d  _ only _ broken several ribs, fractured his leg, had about half-a-dozen uncontrollable coughing fits, and healed more bruises than he could be bothered to count. He hoped those two giant mushroom things were wasting away in Hell now. They single-handedly dished out half of the injuries he’d suffered since setting foot in these Wastes, and all for nothing but a stupid, glowing rock that Tusk was enamored with for some reason.

And it was too fucking hot. He probably should’ve figured it’d get hotter as they went deeper, but it was already killing him and they barely seemed to have descended at all. They just… went in a big, vertical circle. They must’ve gone  _ up _ , if anything.

Well I’mean, it’s not that it’s  _ hot _ so much as it is  _ humid _ , y’know? The acid’s putting a bunch of gas ‘n heat into the air, don’t worry it won’t kill you from where you are, and the heat’s trapped in this cave, and it doesn’t have anywhere to escape.

Huh?

Plus, those spores are like- y-y’know how greenhouse gasses work? They cover the earth like a blankety and trap heat, yeah, and so it doesn’t go anywhere, it just kinda  _ billows _ around, so a little heat goes a long way and it’s a lot hotter than it should be.

But what about those spores?

The mushroom spores are acting basically like greenhouse gases,  _ billowing _ around, trapping heat and making everyone miserable. You can’t really do anything about it, but it’s probably safe to take off your jacket, at least. It’s not defending you from anything, anyway.

Huh… Alright, thanks.

Chance reached around, cringing at the slick layer of sweat sliding between his bare arms and the inside of his jacket, and tugged it off, throwing it all over his shoulder with a heavy  _ flop _ of cloth. Tusk glanced back, tilting their head, and Chance thought absently how cute it would’ve looked if he didn’t feel like he was being cooked alive right now.

“...What?” Chance called out. “Yeah, I wear baggy clothes, so what? ‘s not like I have anything else to change in-”

The earth under his feet began to rumble. The ground erupted, Chance flinching away as specks of dirt flew everywhere, Opening his eyes, a new character stood before him.

“Ah ha! The tiny steps of a tiny creature! And…” A head covered in a cloth, like an executioner’s hood, eyed him up from within the sloppily-cut eye holes. “And the... medium-sized steps of a medium-sized creature.”

“...What?”

The large newcomer straightened up, heaved her massive club over her shoulder, and Chance somehow knew she was smiling under her hood. “Ah, no matter! You got the look of an adventurer, so we've much in common.” She let out a deep, jolly laugh that shook the cavern walls, and smacked Chance on the back hard enough to make him double over. He tried to hide his wheezes of pain from his still-aching ribs, and-

Wait.

Why didn’t it do the thing?

“If you’re searching for dangerous places, you’re on the right track,” their apparent new friend continued. “A long-necked critter warned me of a tribe deeper down. Warrior sorts, so she says and I'm itching for some  _ serious _ combat.”

Chance reached over his shoulder and tried to run a hand over the space where her hand was just a moment ago. Yeah, why didn’t it-

“I-I wasn’t hiding, you know. Just napping before I head off again.” It occurred to Chance how one-sided this conversation was, especially when  _ it _ wasn’t happening like it should be. When’d he come to rely on magic for basic socialization?

“Bound to be facing even more deadly beasts soon, so I gotta keep me strength-”

She paused as Chance laid a hand on her shoulder. He couldn’t help but hold his breath as his half-dead, infected eyes glowed back into where hers weren’t. Slowly, spurred on by some ghost he couldn’t comprehend, he slid his hand over her shoulder and up her neck, his finger wedging a tiny section of the fabric away, until his fingers were pressed  _ against her club, trying to overpower her. _

_ She wouldn’t allow it. _

_ Not for Nola’s sake. _

_ She wouldn’t hide anymore. _

_ The beast fell backwards. _

_ She swore to herself she wouldn’t hide anymore. _

_ She leapt up, and coming down with a tremendous force, smashed her club into _ Chance’s fucking ribsohmyholy _ SHITTHATHURT- _

Cloth snorted. “Keep your hands to yourself,  _ traveler. _ ” She turned to Tusk, and her demeanor brightened. “And  _ you _ keep sharp, my adventurous friend! Stay alive, and let's meet again on the road ahead!”

And with that, she burrowed under the ground again, gone without a trace.

Okay. Now he knew; in order for his “soul-reading” to work, he needed direct skin contact. It didn’t work with Cloth initially because she was only touching his jacket, and not him directly. Every other time had been direct bodily contact; with the shaman, with Styx, with the Hunter, with Hornet, even.

Oh, and damn that spider-woman for stealing his phone. He still needed to track down and find that biiii _ iiiiaaaAGH FUCk, he could barely bREATHEE-! _

_ Gooooodaaaaaaamiiiiiiit- _

* * *

“C-Can I just, like, punch you for your Soul and heal myself with it?”

…

“I-I don’t know if that’d drain from  _ your _ Soul, since getting hit didn’t take your Soul before. But if it didn’t drain your Soul, but  _ did _ give Soul to me, then if we both kept hitting each other we’d have an endless Soul reserve…”

…

“Yeah, I- I know that’s stupid. I- forget it. ‘said nothin’.”

…

“...but like, can I still borrow some of yours?

…

“...I’m dying, Tusk.”

* * *

He felt terrible admitting it, even to himself, but he was kind of starting to doubt that name.

_ Tusk. _

It didn’t count right.

TUH-uuuuuuuuusssssss- _ kuh.  _ Did the T count as a syllable? Did the K count as a syllable? It stuck out enough to feel like it but he didn’t know. He couldn’t even say it in his head without reflexively twisting his tongue to account for the “kuh” sound he wasn’t making.

And the song… Actually, nah. He could never disapprove of Fleetwood.

Though, he wasn’t sure if it fully…  _ matched up _ with his companion. Though, it was kind of hard to judge what “matched up” with them, since he was increasingly aware of how  _ little _ he actually knew about Tusk as a person.

They were mute, they were a master at swordplay -  _ y-yeah, okay, NAILplay, alright, I-I’ll remember, Jesus! - _ and were just strong on the battlefield in general. They seemed curious, they were a great cartographer, they liked being close to Chance for some reason, and most concerningly, seemingly did not emote in any significant way.

_ “Don’t say thatchu love me~!” _

Hmm…

_ “Just tellmethatchu want me-!” _

_ Well, Tusk picked it out themselves, so who was he to object? _

A voice shattered his thoughts.

“So you continue your hopeless journey? Hpmh. So be it, should your longing for death drag you deeper into this dead kingdom’s pit.”

Chance spun around, only to freeze up when he saw who had called him.

_ The cold, unyielding blade, tearing his chest open- _

Hornet glanced over, eyeing the strange archway she stood in. “It appears you near the end of this so-called ‘Pilgrim’s Way’. But that is not an end for you; merely the beginning of a new chapter in your death march, one far more treacherous.” Her deep black eyes turned on him, narrowing dangerously. “I wonder if you will even find the strength to reach as far as-”

She bit back a yelp as Chance threw his entire nail at her, only narrowly missing.

_ “WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PHONE?!” _

Hornet hissed, turning on her heel and sprinting down the pathway behind her. Chance didn’t even wait for Tusk to catch up before he followed suit.

_ “GET BACK HERE!” _

Chance stumbled his way through the tunnel as best as he could, but Hornet was just faster, more light-footed than he was, and even in such close quarters, he quickly found himself falling behi-

_ Falling. _

Chance screamed, flailing backwards until he felt himself collapse safely on the stone path. He sat up, struggling to catch his breath and his mind wrestled with the thought that he came  _ this _ close to falling into that massive pool of acid below him.  _ How did she- _

Heaving, feeling shudders run through his body, he glanced up, just in time to see the Huntress on the opposite end of the lake, vanishing behind a corner.  _ How did she- _

_ “GOD DAMN IT!” _

* * *

Chance was pretty sure there were laws against this. Like, eighty percent sure. Even in a place as lawless as Hallownest, there’s gotta be some kind of unspoken rule, or some kind of guidebook somewhere specifically saying, “Hey, don’t do that.”

At the very least, it was probably considered rude to sneak up behind a Mantis, quickly cover their face with your jacket and restrain them before they could resist.

..Hey. Don’t you go makin’ that face. It was better than killing ‘em, which Tusk probably would’ve done in a heartbeat if Chance hadn’t made his suggestion first.

The unlucky Mantis warrior they had stumbled upon hissed violently, tugging harshly at their restraints to break free. He didn’t know how they worked with those long blades for hands, but he’d tied the sleeves of his jacket around their “wrists”, just below the blade. It was actually the perfect length to do so, by some bizarre miracle, and the Mantis couldn’t break free.

Or at least, it’d keep them still long enough to answer their questions.

The question, though, what was to ask. He still wasn’t quite sure what he was even looking for; he knew there was something important, something he  _ needed  _ to find here, but what? It was definitely around here  _ somewhere _ , though. Maybe directions were a good starting place?

Of course, knowing what he was looking for in the first place would have helped. That, and his fingers were crossed that the Mantis spoke Hallownest’s common tongue.

“Alright, you listen to me ‘n you listen to me  _ good _ , you hear?” Chance tried to sound threatening. It was easier than he expected; the Fungal Wastes, something about it had been  _ pissing him off _ lately. He was kind of concerned at his behavior, but at least now, it’d lend him an advantage.

The Mantis briefly ceased their struggles. “You damn  _ wretch _ ,” he seethed. “You conniving savage, you  _ thing _ , you dare lay your claws upon-”

“Shut up.” Chance just seethed right back. “I’m looking for a  _ place _ , and I know you know the way. So you’re going to give me directions, or I’ll…” He paused for a moment, quickly scrambling for an effective threat against a Mantis, before he settled for: “Or I’ll throw you down in the acid pits!”

“Tch,” the Mantis was unfazed. “What place do you even speak of, filthy trickster?”

Chance opened his mouth, only for his breath to catch in his throat. He gasped again, trying to find the words. What? Why wouldn’t the words come out? He knew what he was looking for, right?

It was the, uhm…

The Mantis in his grasp shuffled a bit more, with Tusk trying to help hold him down. “ _ Well? _ You did not trap a warrior such as myself so  _ dishonorably _ without a plan, did you? I can’t imagine you’re seeking to travel within the Mantis Village-”

“ _ With-in-the-Man-tis-Vill-age, _ ” Chance counted out instinctively, “ _ With-in-the-depths-will-you-en-count-er-the-test-set-for-you-think-not-of-it-as-a-chal-lenge-think-of-it-as-an-ex-per-ri-ment-” _

The Mantis, frozen for a moment, jerked violently, nearly hitting Chance with one of his exposed arm-blades. “I-I’m  _ sorry? _ I didn’t take you for a  _ madman _ , trickster.”

“Wha- I’m not a  _ madman _ ,” Chance said indignantly. “I know what I want! And you’re gonna give it to me, you hear?!”

The Mantis’ voice lost its threatening edge, and took on a more morbidly curious tone. “Then what is it you want from me?”

“I just  _ said!,”  _ Chance shouted. “I want you to take me to… Erhm…”

“Take you…” the Mantis started slowly. “To your… ‘test’?”

_ “-test-set-for-you-think-not-of-it-as-a-chal-enge-think-of-it-as-an-ex-per-ri-” _

“But what test  _ is _ it?” the Mantis tried. Somewhere under Chance’s hood, he could almost hear a smirk.

Chance face twisted with frustration, and he reared back, landing a firm punch on the Mantis’ head. “I don’t  _ fucking know,  _ okay?! But you  _ do _ , and  _ you will tell me. _ ”

The Mantis only chuckled. Apparently, Chance didn’t throw a very good punch. “Of course, once  _ you’re _ done counting syllables.”

Chance paused for a long moment. Just when his captive was about to speak, Chance cut him off, “Stop spouting bullshit and tell me where it is!”

“Where  _ what _ -” The Mantis suddenly yelped as Tusk, who both of them had forgotten about, struck the Mantis’ legs with their nail, sending them toppling forward. Chance reached out and grabbed him to keep him from falling  _ ever lower in the ranks as always, Lightfoot.” _

_ He only sighed. “I thought I had explained this before, Sir. I’m not concerned with the ‘ranks’. I never have been.” _

_ “Well. Clearly.” _

_ Lightfoot grimaced as his superior eyed him up and down - he had a lot of superiors these days - judgement practically oozing from his expression. The Mantis Tribe was a society of warrior’s pride; if you wanted to rise in the ranks, all you had to do was beat up your superior, and if you won, you’d switch places with them. If you lost… Well, it could mean a couple of things, but if any punishment were served at all, a disgraced Mantis would most likely just be sent lower down in the ranks. If you were lucky, someone could lose a fight entirely unrelated to you and the loser would be sent down to your rank, and then you would get promoted to their former position simply because  _ someone _ had to be. _

_ But again, the Mantises valued pride and strength above all. “Luck” held no place in their society, especially not for rising in their valued ranks. Although demotion was the most common punishment, it was far more likely that there wouldn’t be any punishment at all. The humiliation of losing in battle was punishment enough for the Mantises. _

_ Lightfoot couldn’t fully grasp this sentiment. Whenever he lost a battle, he often just stopped thinking about it the next day. He had too much on his mind already to be worrying about “pride”. _

_ “Tch. Your non-committal to our culture is a shame to our tribe, Lightfoot. Your will to fight is weak.  _ You _ are weak.” He spat on the ground before hissing out, “You’re just like your Infected  _ bitch _ of a mother, who couldn’t even resist the temptations of a dream.” _

_ ...His will to fight? _

_ Fine, he thought, lunging forward at his so-called “superior.” _

_ Fine. _

_ He’d  _ show _ them his will to fight _ ing against the bonds until they finally snapped, Lightfoot quickly scrambled up, putting as much distance between himself and Chance as he could.

“ _ Hah! _ You have  _ guts _ , trickster, I’ll give you that much!” He bared his blade-arms threateningly, but there was a look of amusement across his face. “You wish to challenge our Lords? Then keep going down this tunnel, for our Village lies within. But beware, the locals will not take  _ kindly _ to your presence, and the Sisters will be far from your only opponents.”

And with that, he flung himself away and further down the cavern, far faster than Chance or Tusk could’ve run, leaving them behind in unnerving silence.

He’d gone to warn the Mantis Village that they were coming, and they couldn’t do anything about it. And worst of all, he’d torn Chance’s jacket sleeves, cutting them off at the wrists.

“God damn it.”

* * *

Whoopsie-Daisy! You Wanted To Not Die From Weird Alien Mucus And Now You’re Trapped In A Room Surrounded By Giant Angry Mantises And You’re Mere Seconds Away From Being Butchered Alive.

Chance rolled into the shadowy looking room he and Tusk had stumbled upon, seething as he landed on one of the many gashes across his body. Lightfoot hadn’t been joking; the Mantis Tribe wasn’t just  _ inhospitable _ , they were  _ pissed _ by their mere presence. Only through the rush of adrenaline and sheer dumb luck did he still have his head.

He’d manage to gather up a fair bit of Soul while fighting for his life a moment ago, though, and took the chance to quickly heal up his wounds as best as he could. He patched up the deepest gashes, but could only shrink down many of the smaller ones with the stolen Soul he currently had. He absently wondered if there were a way to deepen his Soul reserves.

Oh, God, he could hear them out there. Hissing and screeching, enemies and family alike all working together to hunt down their intruders. Nobody seemed to bother checking this room yet, but it was only a matter of time before someone took a peek.

...What  _ was _ this room? Just as the question crossed his mind, he jumped when he heard something clatter to the floor.

The room was lined with racks covered in what appeared to be some kind of sickles, jagged edges along their blade. Or were they claws? He couldn’t guess from what, or how they got so many of them. Tusk, who had followed him in here, had bumped into one of the racks and had a claw tumble to the ground.

Tusk reached down to pick it up, only for the claw to…

...absorb into their arm and vanish.

“T-Tusk? What-” Chance tried to shift over, and felt something slide against his leg. Glancing down, he saw a similar claw laying next to him. He reached out and picked it up, thinking it could maybe be a good backup weapon, but felt something waver and warp around his hand.

His arm felt numb as the claw  _ sunk _ into his palm like water. Chance couldn’t even force out a scream. It didn’t feel like it was stabbing into his hand, more like it  _ dissolved _ in his flesh as it sunk deeper. There wasn’t any blood or gashes, and he felt no pain. It just  _ merged _ with his hand like some bad 3D render.

He couldn’t clench his fists. He couldn’t grab his wrist. He couldn’t even bring himself to try to tug the claw out. Chance could do nothing but sit and stare in wonder and revulsion as his hands turned into something they weren’t.

Oh, God.

Then his  _ skin _ started to warp around it, climbing up what hadn’t already been dissolved of the blade. The skin on his palm pinched and rose, until his arm had completely devoured the blade. It didn’t stab or cut, but it  _ stretched _ , bending and morphing Chance’s flesh in ways he never wanted to know was possible.

Soon enough, the blade  _ was _ his flesh. Tiny, sharp spikes, made of something between flesh and metal, sprouted all across the skin of his hand. Where his fingernails once were, there were now claws. On his palms, a handful of larger claws stuck out, all curved downwards at the same angle the metal sickle one was before he “ate” it.

All curved downwards. Like they were meant to be…

The sound of Tusk kicking off the ground caught his attention, and Chance glanced up just in time to see the small warrior jump into a wall,  _ grab onto it _ and jump onto another wall, ascending the small hole they had fallen into back into the Mantis Village proper.

Chance glanced down yet again at his twisted hands. With a bit of will, he could make the claws all retract, restoring his hand to normal. With a bit more will, he could make them grow back in a split second.

...Climbing gloves?

No, Chance thought with a manic grin as he reached out to a wall and pulled himself up with almost as little effort as walking. This was even better.

* * *

Do-do-do.

Do-do-do.

Do-do-do-dahwhaschaspiderman does~

* * *

Okay, it was fun for five minutes but now things weren’t fun anymore.

Don’t take it the wrong way; having weird climbing claw things, as much as it made his gut waver, was still pretty kickass for giving him wall-climbing powers. It didn’t even require any of his soul. He found he had a surprising degree of control over the claws, too; He could make the claws as large or small as he wanted.

Of course, it still had its limits, too, since he couldn’t make any of the claws too big without ejecting the actual metal Mantis Claw from his arm like some magic, superpower-granting CD. Reintegration was about as painful as the first time. Still, having a useful power that he actually understood and could fully control was a refreshing change of pace from “shake a stranger’s hand and be forced to read into their very soul.”

The claws were cool and would continue to be cool. The problem was, well, everything else.

First off, it’d be a pain if climbing on the walls and ceiling were limited to his hands. He’d just be dangling down where anyone could see him. Luckily, and disgustingly, the Claw seemed to cover this by extending the weird flesh-hooks down to his feet as well.

He could climb every surface just like a… Well, like a bug, he supposed.

Problem was, he had  _ shoes _ . He didn’t realize how much of a godsend having a pair of modern, thick-soled sneakers in the roughs of Hallownest was until they were suddenly frayed and scrappy.

But before he accidentally shredded his shoes with his feet, he noticed that the rubber soles  _ also _ warped under the Claw’s weird, inexplicable power. If he could ever fix his shoes, maybe he could learn to use the Claw without tearing them again?

But that was  _ if _ he could fix his shoes. And  _ that _ was  _ also _ if he ever got out of here alive. That was issue number two.

Climbing on the walls like Spider-Man was cool, until you realized all of your enemies could do it too, and did it far better than you ever could. Comparing a lifetime of something that came as easily as breathing to someone who thought this was impossible not even ten minutes ago.

Not to mention, the entire rest of the Mantis Tribe was already scouring the place for their heads. Chance and Tusk’s attempt at a stealthy getaway broke down in about eight seconds.

Angry hisses, buzzing wings, and razor-sharp claws surrounding them in a flurry on all sides. Fruitlessly trying to swat away the masses, Chance shouted for Tusk, who had vanished in the storm of pissed-off Mantises. At some point, Chance’s nail was ripped from his body, and shortly after, he fell backwards and fell like a rock, landing painfully on his back.

And with his pained grunt, the storm dissipated. Trying to get his breathing under control, he scrambled up to his feet, glancing around him. The scene didn’t look good.

Reaching over his shoulder confirmed his nail was gone. Some movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced up to see Tusk hidden just around the corner of their escape route up and out of the Village, staring down at him. They’d basically escaped, but were at least willing to stick around to keep an eye out for him.

And Chance couldn’t blame Tusk one single bit for wanting to stay put. He was down here, surrounded by a small army of seething Mantises wanting his blood. But it was strange; they were all gathered around him in a circle, a circle clearly defined by a large shape on the floor. What were they trying to do…?

_ “TRICKSTER!” _

_ What is it, mooooom-? _

Chance spun around to see none other than Lightfoot stepping into the ring with him, baring his arm-blades with a vicious hiss. “You’ll have no ambushes or plots here! A true, fair duel awaits us both here!”

A one-on-one with nothing but a tool he hadn’t even tested as a weapon yet, against the only Mantis here who had a very real reason to want his head.

_ I have no idea how this is going to turn out, but I’m probably going to deserve whatever happens to me. _

And when someone comes sprinting at you with the clear intent to beat the shit out of you, and you’re already completely cornered, there’s nowhere for you to run except right the fuck back at them.

Lightfoot bellowed a furious war cry, and Chance only screamed back as the two warriors drew closer, blades at the ready, the crowds around them cheering, calling for blood to be spilled, and Lightfoot raised his blade, striking downward in a wide arc…

...and cut through thin air.

It took a moment for the disgraced Mantis warrior to realize what had happened. When he did, he glanced around frantically for his opponent, only to find Chance had somehow disappeared from the ring entirely.

The other Mantises only looked around in confusion, some disappointed, some in awe; whatever had just happened, it was too fast for them to see.

Lightfoot nearly screamed in rage, when a tiny bit of rubble fell and bounded off of his shoulder.

...From… above…?

Slowly looking over his shoulder, Lightfoot could spy Chance, trying to hide on a shadowy part of the ceiling, barely holding up.

_ “What’re you doin’ up there?!” _ , he hollered.

“Staying away from you.”

Lightfoot  _ shot _ up from the ring, wings propelling him up to a terrified Chance. His arm-blade jammed into the ceiling, mere inches from Chance’s neck, who lost his grip with a yelp and fell to the ground yet again. The crowd hissed approvingly, glad that they weren’t about to get cheated out of a good fight.

Chance slowly staggered to his feet, hand clutching his probably fractured ribs. Not fractured anymore. Yeah, he definitely had all this coming to him.

Lightfoot threw a swing, leaving a long, heavy gash on Chance’s arm. While Chance reeled, he threw another one, leaving a second gash along his face, sending Chance stumbling backwards with a grunt of pain. The crowd bristled as he healed himself, leaving light scars behind as he ran out of Soul just a bit too early.

Alright, if he wanted to survive this, he needed to go on the offensive, now.

Chance grew claws on his hand, and-

The crowd roared at him with such anger he jumped.

_ “THIEF!” _

_ “THE TRICKSTER IS A THIEF!” _

_ “HE SULLIES OUR VERY WAY OF LIFE!” _

_ “END THE TRICKSTER, LIGHTFOOT!” _

His opponent seemed to take a deep breath to restrain himself, straightened his back, and glared down at Chance as the crowd silenced to hear his words.

“That Claw is meant to be a gift from our people to those who have earned it. I understand that I am the  _ last _ one who should be speaking of ‘honor’,” he raised his voice a bit, directed more at the crowd around him than Chance. Until he turned his glare back. “But you insult our entire people with your actions, something not even I can turn a blind eye to.”

Less than a week ago, Chance was terrified at the mere notion of accidentally trampling Hallownest’s alien social constructs. With a very angry warrior tribe surrounding him on all sides, apparently, things haven’t changed much.

Out of the corner of his eye, a much taller Mantis appeared in the back of the crowd, some hushed whispers rippling around the crowd near them.

Lightfoot approached him again, not sprinting anymore, but in a firm, swift stride. No more tricks. No more luck. No more getting away with things.

Chance walked forward, too, keeping his breaths steady and calm. Keeping eye contact.

Lightfoot raised another arm, ready to cleave Chance in half-

His face exploded and the world blurred.

Gasps ran through the crowd surrounding them both as something hot and wet ran down Lightfoot’s face. Chance hopped around him, bouncing up and down on his toes, his arms up to cover his face as though it’d protect him from a blade. His hands clenched into fists.

He slowly ran the tip of his tongue over his thumb, and Lightfoot’s first thought was that his eyes were not his own.

“If it’s not mine to use, then I won’t use it.”

Whispers fluttered through the crowd again. The taller Mantis in the back seemed deep in thought. The tribe bristled, anxious for bloodshed. Lightfoot seemed… accepting, of Chance’s self-imposed handicap, and the two stepped forward to-

“Now  _ hold it _ for just  _ one _ minute!”

Lightfoot finally snapped and roared,  _ “WHAT IS IT- N-now-” _ , only for his breath to catch in his throat.

Stepping into the ring, unconcerned with the seemingly impenetrable barrier the tribe had formed for the two combattants, a new Mantis approached them. Slightly taller than Lightfoot was, her body looking paler and more tired than the other Mantises, yet with some kind of youthful mirth about her.

But what Chance spotted immediately were her eyes, tinted softly with tangerine.

The crowd kept on talking.  _ “She’s alive?” “How is she on her feet already?” “Is she really getting better?” “Is it safe for her to be outside?” “She’s not gonna snap and maul us, is she?” _

As the crowd shifted, sharing Lightfoot’s brief anger at their fight being interrupted yet again, the Mantis warrior himself looked like he was about to wither and die on the spot.

“M- _ Mother, _ ” he sputtered out, “You’re supposed to be in bed! Why are you-”

“Oh,  _ please, _ I don’t answer to you, Lightfoot, I just needed to stretch my legs.” She cut off her son’s stammering, “Don’t embarrass yourself any further than you already have, you hot-head. I’m acquainted with your little kidnapper friend over here.”

“Y-You are?”

_ I am? _

Yes, you are, you dolt, just play along.

_ “Chance _ , my friend!” She threw her arms in the air in a dramatic greeting, “I’m glad to see you here, though ah, I must apologize for our tribe’s lack of  _ hospitality.” _ She threw out a wide glare around the crowd, who just glared right back. The tall one in the back glanced away.

“Ah, perhaps we’d best take a step out for a little while? We’ve gathered quite the audience here. Some basic privacy for a conversation would be  _ splendid. _ ”

“Mother,  _ no! _ ” Lightfoot protested. “You’re still ill! You shouldn’t even be out of bed, much less-”

“Gods, Lightfoot, can’t a woman take a stroll these days? You just focus on cleaning up your  _ own _ messes, and my friend and I here,” to emphasize her point, she affirmingly pat Chance on the  _ back for more, are you? _

_ P-Please, I just- _

_ Can’t handle the stresses of everyday life? I can’t blame you. Your barbaric society seems hardly liveable. _

_ … _

_ ...Rio, was it? _

_ I… I have to be strong. I know I have to be strong. For my tribe, for my family… for myself. _

_ … But…? _

_ I’m just… so  _ tired. _ Tired of it all. Ever since my mate died, ever since Lightfoot’s been growing older and more rebellious… _

_ Hey… It’s okay. I understand better than anyone the struggles of motherhood. _

_ … _

_ But that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Pour all your troubles, your worries, your woes, and wash them away in my light. If you ever have the need, I can be a good listener. _

_ ...P...Please. _

_ ...What a drag it is, getting old. _

“-are just going to take a light stroll around the Wastes. ...Oh, come now, he’s surely proven himself a fine warrior to hold  _ you _ off long enough for me to pull myself out of bed and drag myself all the way over here.”

“Tch. I’d hardly call him  _ fair _ , much less  _ fine. _ ”

Chance blinked himself back into existence for a moment, trying to process everything. Rio patted his back again, careful not to cut him again on her blade. She suddenly took a step forward, nudging Chance to follow alongside her as they walked towards the nearest exit from the Village.

“We’ll be  _ just fine _ , Lightfoot. A little exercise will only help my condition, won’t it?”

“Not if you push yourself too much-”

“Pfft, I know how to  _ restrain _ myself, unlike you, you buffoon. Don’t you worry about little old me.”

Lightfoot’s argument died in his throat as Chance and Rio walked away. Chance noticed that the rest of the tribe had dispersed by now, convinced any worthwhile fight wasn’t happening. Lightfoot, stuck in the middle of what was once his arena, slouched as he watched the two walk off.

Once they were out of earshot, Rio leaned down and whispered into Chance’s ear.

_ “Don’t say I never did anything for you, boy.” _

Chance only shivered in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Gordon Lightfoot (artist)  
Rio by Duran Duran
> 
> Idk why but i have a bad habit of sitting on my ass for like three weeks and then powering through an entire chapter in a matter of days just in time to get it out within a month of the last one. i try to write in that weird between time but i just keep getting stuck for some reason
> 
> anyway, here's the chapter where chance gets angry at the Fungal Wastes for existing. to be fair, that place seems like it sucks for a number of reasons. Honestly a lot of this chapter was powered by me making up some bullshit on the spot that makes no sense, like the Mantis Claw sinking into Chance's hand and giving him *actual* claws. I just figured that'd be easier to use than trying not to accidentally drop what's essentially a mountain climbing pick that's not even made for your species. 
> 
> there's a lot going on in this chapter, and not a lot of it makes much sense tbh. one thing I can clarify is that Rio knew about Chance despite having never met him before because both Rio and Chance are Infected, and hooked up to the Raidance's hivemind, so our moth goddess is sharing knowledge between the two so they can more convincingly pretend they're old friends when they're actually complete strangers.
> 
> there's a lot of other weird infection-related bullshit in this chapter, and there's going to be much more to come, but i don't think i can explain too much without spoiling the plans i have for this story. all i'll say is that the next chapter is gonna be pretty important overall, and it'll probably mark the point when things start to really get interesting. which is kind of crazy to think about, since Piston and I have been working at this story almost constantly for the past year and we're only *just* now gonna get to the good bits. come to think of it, that's kind of how it'll be for the next chapter of Midnight Rider too, so maybe we'll try to work on that a bit more as well, see if we can't get a bit more out before the year is finally over.
> 
> anyway, please leave a comment, thank you for reading and i'll see you in the next chapter! :)


	16. Superstition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keep me in a daydream.”

You’re still here? I thought you’d have at least tried to move a while ago. Still can’t think of anything to say?

Blood, running up and down his back. Chance’s hair stained a deep black, and his face tainted red. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. He could barely even think. His lungs shuddered from the suffocation.

I know you can hear me. You’re actively choosing to ignore me.

His clothes were torn, deep gashes in his skin running under them. Everything was wet and warm and metallic.

This isn’t a threat, it’s a warning. I want to help you.

He didn’t even have the energy to clench his fists anymore.

Please. What have I offered you, all this time, but freedom?

With what little strength he could muster, Chance glanced up with weary, orange eyes.

I can’t stop the inevitable. But I can save you from the pain.

Everything you’re feeling has, essentially, already happened. You can’t dodge a blow that’s already struck.

But with my help, maybe you won’t have to suffer from it.

I don’t want to see you suffer.

Please.

Tired, tangerine eyes, gave one final gaze into the blinding headlights of the inky black ghost that was once Tusk.

-collapsed promptly over his shoulder.

“_ Ahh _ , perhaps Lightfoot had a point…” Rio sighed, her legs shaking as she tried to lean on Chance for support. “Why, we’ve barely left the Village, and I’m already exhausted.” They were out in some forsaken wilderness, not too far from the Mantis Village, but far enough where they didn’t encounter any scouts. Or maybe all the scouts that _ would _ be here went back to the village after Chance’s… well… episode.

He didn’t know why he was talking to this woman still. Well, he knew _ why _ ; she’d popped in out of thin air and saved him from an unwinnable fight. But what’d she go and do _ that _ for? He appreciated it, yeah, but people don’t normally just jump into things like that. Especially people who were apparently sick enough where they shouldn’t be out of bed.

_ Sick with the same thing he has. _

All he could do was try to wrap an arm under hers to support her. “I... think there’s a bench around here somewhere.” He didn’t think that, he’d never been down here before, he didn’t even have a map of this place, what the hell was he-

Rio made a dramatic pose of a woman on the verge of fainting. “_ Oh _ , but if I go out much further, then I’ll have to walk all the way _ back _ , won’t I, _ dear?” _ A few moments of silence later, she slouched back down. “...I’m kidding, of course. Just up ahead.”

They walked in silence for another minute. Just two headaches taking a stroll down shroom world.

“...Besides… I haven’t seen my mate in what must be ages now.”

“So you’ve mentioned.” Twice, now.

“Yes, he was quite… q-quite, erm…” She slouched further, until Chance was practically dragging her on his back as they approached the bench. “Rrrrhgh, why _ are _ you so _ warm _, human…”

Wait. Did she just-

It’s ‘cause you’re warm-blooded.

She- What?

Humans are warm-blooded, but insects are cold-blooded, so they can’t naturally raise their body temperature. Hallownestian insects are the same, and while most have evolved to survive in and even like the cold, they still can’t help but be attracted to heat. Like when you leave your bedroom window open one cold night, and your half-awake mind in the morning knows nothing other than to reach and grasp for any bit of warm bedding it can find.

O-Okay, cool, but-

Exactly, they’re always cool, but you’re like a living space heater to them. So that’s why they’re always trying to get close to you, ‘cause being close to you is super comfy for them - for a couple reasons, this being just one - so that’s why this Mantis lady is all over you, and that’s also why your little Vessel friend-

Hey, wait-wait a minute, stop this shit. What the fuck am I thinking about?

_ (Somewhere in the back of his mind, Chance swore he heard a record scratch.) _

“What’d you just call me?” Chance said, as he helped her down to the bench seat. It wasn’t a question.

“Mhmm… warm? Waaarrm…” She leaned over, crooning over him. Her bladed arms wrapped around his chest, and Chance had to pull himself away as he shot up from the bench.

“No! The-” He shook his head with a grunt. “The _ other _ thing! That you said.”

“Whua-?” Rio blinked slowly, waving her arms around where Chance once was. “H-Hu-...Maaaaaan?” She furrowed her brow, as though she wasn’t sure how she got her answer.

“Where’d you hear _ that _ from?” As far as he could remember, the only people in Hallownest who knew what he was were all the way back up in Dirtmouth. He wasn’t sure why Rio’s mental state seemed to be slipping, but he needed to get answers out of her while he still could.

“Oh… about how you’re a human?” Rio threw her legs over the armrest of the bench and moved over to the side, lounging across the bench as she stretched her body out. “Mhm. She must’ve told me that at some point.”

_ “...She?” _

...The Infection was a disease.

Rio chuckled darkly. “She lives in my eyes and speaks to me in my sleep. She’s offered nothing but comfort and peace to me…” She sighed. “I owe so much to her. The others find her repugnant, but I think… she’s just misunderstood.”

The Infection was a virus.

“Yes… Misunderstood, that’s a good word. Sometimes, all she wants is just to talk… I can’t imagine living inside of a head. It must be lonely there. ...She’s warm, just like you are.”

The Infection was only biological matter.

“Do you know what Mantis life is like, Chance? Everything is decided by combat and honor. That’s all that exists. Even our very bodies are built for being fighters,” she shrugged, vaguely gesturing to her bladed arms.

The Infection was a simple plague that could be treated or even cured, just like anything else.

“And my son, Lightfoot, is a young adult now, and he’s such a hot head… he was put on distant scout duty for assaulting one of his superiors. Over _ me _, no less.”

The Infection was not a supernatural occurrence.

“It’s all a nightmare to deal with… there’s nothing better than falling into bed at the end of the day into her warm, soft wings. They call me insane, but I think I’d go insane _ without _ her.”

Chance was not being possessed by some metaphysical goddess.

“...She lives in your eyes, too.”

He was frozen. He didn’t know when she got so close. Her face right in front of his, inches away, and he could feel her cool breath on his neck. Tangerine eyes bore into tangerine eyes.

Her arm gently pressed against his back, pulling him closer, and Chance exploded away from her like the shot of a gun.

He barely heard her cries for him to wait over the pounding of his footfalls and his heartbeat in his ears. His legs pushed him forward with all the might and machination of a runaway train.

The world was a blur. A green-yellow spiral surrounding him. The Wastes looked like a whirlpool of vomit, and he felt like he was about to be sick too.

And then his legs gave out.

He tripped and collapsed in some shadowy corner, with nobody around. He scrambled as deep into the darkness as he could, curling into a ball, jagged hands running over his scalp as he struggled to get his heart rate under control.

_ It’s okay. I’m here to help. _

_ I can take the pain away. _

_ I can help you feel better. _

_ I can- _

**Shut up.**

Chance spun around and punched the wall as hard as he could. The mushroom he hit exploded into spores right in his face, covering his fist in mucus and blood. He gagged, fell on his side, and staggered away as fast as he could. He was blind, and he couldn’t breathe.

Nobody around. No Mantises, no mushroom-people. Tusk wasn’t here, either. Where was Tusk. Where did they go. They _ had _ to be around here somewhere. Somewhere. Somewhere Somewhere Somew-

The world only grew more and more hazy, the inhaled spores clouding his mind. Chance stumbled blind, lethargy creeping up through his veins. His eyes couldn’t focus right. He narrowly avoided falling into what looked suspiciously to his spore-filled brain like a pit of acid. 

His breaths were labored and his limbs quaked, until he fell to his knees and coughed up green and orange acid into the dirt.

His elbows collapsed, and he fell on his side, body slowly shutting down.

* * *

_ “I like to dream... Yeees, yes...” _

The world was black and empty. Chance would prefer to keep it that way. He laid on his back, drifting through the comfortable abyss of dreamless sleep. His lungs didn’t hurt because he didn’t need to breathe. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty because he didn’t need food or water. His body didn’t scream in pain because he didn’t feel anything.

_ “Right between the sound machine…” _

Chance’s brow furrowed, and with a tired, reluctant groan, his eyes fluttered open and existence poured back into him. His lungs still felt stuffy. He hadn’t had a half-good meal in hours. He felt like a pile of bricks.

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t even know if he was found and moved in his sleep, or if his unconscious body just sat there in the open for God knows how long. Most of the Wastes looked exactly the same, anyway. At least Greenpath tried to look pretty; this place lived up to its name in every sense.

_ “On a cloud of sound I drift in the night-!” _

He rolled over, and his eyes were awash with color.

The same hazy Wastes yellow floated through the room, but cloth and silk and plush pillows of all colors were plastered over every surface. Within what looked like a partitioned cave, Chance lay on a small bedroll in the corner, while a small wooden bowl filled with water and a soaked rag lay just in front of his head. The room was illuminated by long strings of tiny Lumafly lanterns strung across the edges of the cave.

_ “Any place it goes is right…” _

A figure slid, no, literally _ slid _ into view, as if the floor was frictionless. They stopped before a small ledge that looked like a counter, their feet still hopping and moving in place in a dance. They moved their body to the rhythm of their song as they worked on something, their back turned to Chance.

_ “Goes far, flies near-! _

_ To the stars away from here-!” _

Chance began to wake up more, and even in the suffocating density of the Wastes, could clearly identify the smell of something cooking. A light hissing noise emanated from before the figure, who seemed to be working with a small pan resting over a fire. His vision was distorted, but all Chance could make out of the figure was the oak-green cloak covering their whole body.

_ “Well, you don't know, what-a, _

_ We can find-!” _

The figure held his - he could only assume it was a he from the voice - large, wooden spatula like a microphone, singing into it while still dancing in place as he cooked… something. The smell was tantalizing, especially since it’d been so long since Chance had eaten anything.

_ “Why don't you come with me, little girl- _

_ On a magic carpet ride~” _

Chance tried to sit up, but his elbow knocked into the wooden bowl by his side. He hastily set it upright, but the water was already flowing over the cave floor, getting soaked up by the very nice-looking pillows and carpets. A small stream of it flowed towards his mystery savior, but he danced away at the last second, turning his attention to something else in the room.

_ “Well, you don't know what-a, _

_ We can see-!” _

He spun around as he moonwalked back to the kitchen, but his foot dragged over a small puddle of water as he did so. His singing faltered for just a moment as he glanced down, unaware of Chance slowly standing up behind him.

_ “Why don't you tell your dreams to me, _

_ Fantasy will set you freEEEEEE-!” _

The figure shrieked as they turned to find Chance standing right behind them. Clutching their chest in a knee-jerk reaction, they doubled back, only for their foot to slip on one of the water puddles, and fell to the ground with a thud.

* * *

Chance felt like a _ huge _ asshole right about now.

First off, now that his panic and confusion were starting to fade away, he remembered Rio, who was still ill with the Infection, both her mental and physical state slipping. She’d needed his support just to get as far as the bench they were at, and he’d ditched her there.

Best case scenario, she’d barely stagger back to the Mantis Village with the help of some scout who found her, and they’d all know he bailed on her, and he’d have pissed off the _ one _ Mantis who _ didn’t _ want him dead.

Worst case scenario, nobody helped her back, and…

“Something on your mind?”

Chance blinked, looking back up at his savior. That was the second thing.

Here was this guy, a complete stranger, who’d found his unconscious body laying around, and had gone through the trouble to carry him all the way back to his home. He’d looked after his injuries, kept him comfortable, and he’d even gone out of his way to cook up something for when he woke up.

Chance looked back down at the plate he was holding, sitting cross-legged on the cushioned floor across from his savior. It looked mostly like sautéed mushrooms, but with a reasonable mix of stir-fried vegetables and meat bits as well, cooked in a buttery, tangy sap, sprinkled with a pinch of some kind of seed.

“Er-” He started, remembering his host had asked him a question. “Nothing,” he lied, “It’s just… how’d you make this?”

“Well,” he began, “These mushrooms aren’t the big yellow ones you see everywhere. If those were edible, this place wouldn’t be called the Wastes, would it?” He gave a light chuckle, “No, this is a specific mushroom found around here. Called Lifecaps. You can identify them from their solid-blue caps, with no yellow dots on ‘em. They’re still not safe to eat raw, though.”

Chance hummed as he listened to his savior’s rambling. Who knew, maybe it could prove useful.

“Those vegetables I got from the Gardens. It’s not that long of a walk if you know the shortcuts, so I go there often to gather ingredients. Some of the white bulb flowers have Brass-sprouts growing in the soil underneath ‘em. And all that Emerald Ivy around there - the big thorny vines, if you cut off one of the thorns and wash it thoroughly, it’ll get all the toxins off of it, then just boil it in water for a while to soften it into something edible, just gotta cut off the pointy tip, too. Ivythorns, they call ‘em.”

His mind wandered to Iselda, and the stew she made for him and Dirtmouth his first day here. Even if he was no cook, maybe she’d like to know all of this.

“Or, you can break up Ivythorns while still hard and get the seeds from ‘em, that’s what I used to sprinkle it with. Good for your eyes, they say. For the oil, there’s another plant in the Gardens, a reddish-purple bush, called literally just Reddishes. A-And those giant bouncy mushrooms around here, Queenshrooms, poke ‘em and collect some of their sap. Dissolve diced Reddishes and Queenshrooms sap with some of the acid around here, it neutralizes the acid and causes it to thicken, all tangy and a bit spicy, but edible. Great for cooking stir-fry like this.”

“Mhm,” Chance mumbled, taking another bite. _ God _, this tasted good. “And the meat?”

“You know those Fungoons? The giant round creatures floating around.”

Chance paused mid-chew, his wary eyes darting up to his savior’s. “Mhh?”

“Y-Yeah, the erh… Infected ones. Turns out, the Infection only exists in a gaseous form within their bodies, so when you kill one - y-you know how it deflates all at once? Yeah, it expels all the Infection in its body then, making it safe to eat.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“...A-After you cook them!”, he added hastily. “Of... course.”

Chance stood still for a moment longer, before he slowly resumed chewing.

And again, that was the second thing. All that effort, all that care for someone who didn’t even know him, and Chance spilled water all over his stuff and made him fall on his poor ass.

“Well… um, thanks.” He said, in between mouthfuls of the stew. Never let him be known as someone to waste food, “And, uhm… Sorry. About the-”

“Y’know that’s the fourth time you’ve said sorry now?”

He paused, having to force himself from saying “sorry” yet again. The stranger sighed, setting aside his own plate and scooching closer to where Chance sat cross-legged. He patted Chance’s shoulder with what felt like a warm hand under his impossibly long sleeves, shaking it a bit before having it there to rest.

“If anything, _ I _ should be the one apologizing.”

Chance reached up, holding his savior’s hand like a lifeline. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He pulled his hand away from Chance all too soon. Picking up his plate of sautéed mushrooms from the floor again, he gestured vaguely at it, “_ Look _ at this thing! The first meal I make for a new friend, and I didn’t even use any spices!”

“Whu-” Chance stammered for a moment, before looking wildly between his plate and the stranger’s hooded face. “What about all those seed things? Ivythorns or whatever the hell?!”

“That’s not a _ spice _ , that’s a _ seasoning! _”

“So _ what _, you take it, y’ sprinkle it all over, what difference does it make?!”

“You would consider the sugary toppings on a cake to be a _ spice _?!”

“I would-” Chance suddenly burst out laughing, setting his own plate aside before he doubled over with a stupid grin on his face. “Wh-What the fuck, no?” Soon enough, he and the stranger were both laughing together, Chance clutching at his sides from the sheer absurdity of it all. Everything he’d fought through, everything he’d suffered through, all led up to him arguing over _ food _, or all things.

It must’ve been nearly an hour in there, but it all flew by so fast. They argued, they joked, they laughed, they ate food. There sadly wasn’t enough for seconds, so clean plates set aside, the two laid back in the pillows, catching their breaths.

Chance didn’t think he’d clicked with someone this well since… well, for as long as he could remember.

“Hey, uh…” He felt kind of stupid for asking this now, after _ all this _, but it couldn’t be helped. “I never actually got your name, I don’t think.”

The figure perked up, as though waiting for this moment. “I’m Jeremy!”

* * *

_ “Ohhh... please... don't leave me behind!” _

Chance bit his lower lip anxiously. He and this new friend, Jeremy, had been wandering together for a little while now. He wasn’t certain what he was looking for. Well, he did, but he didn’t know how to prioritize all the problems that had piled up rather suddenly. He needed to check to see if Rio was alright, and apologize profusely to her. He needed (_ needed, _ but not _ wanted _) to get back to the Mantis Village and figure out how to be diplomatic and hopefully not get his arms chopped off.

And Tusk. God, he _ needed _ to make sure Tusk was alright.

But for all his problems that needed to be addressed quickly, he’d still feel like an ass for just leaving this poor girl all by her lonesome.

Chance and Jeremy had wound up here almost by accident; they had been looking about, trying to get their bearings, and Jeremy had spotted a secret opening that could only be accessed with the Mantis Claws. The whole pathway was a haze; spikes everywhere, Chance had been forced to rely on Jeremy’s guidance, weaving through the hazards until they finally reached an exit, finding nothing but an empty room with a single Infected girl, crying her eyes out.

His cloaked friend crouched down to eye level with the beetle(?) girl they had stumbled upon. He waved a hand in front of her face, her eyes fogged in that horrible tangerine.

“Heeellooooooo…?” Jeremy tried calling to her. With a defeated sigh, he stood up and shrugged. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

_ “You... forgot about me...?” _ The girl moaned, her voice heavy in a delirious sorrow. Chance could only stand a ways away, awkwardly watching her suffer from her condition. And what _ could _ he do? If he knew how to cure her Infection, he would’ve cured his own by now.

Orange tears were trailing down her face now. She hiccuped, her breaths uneven and shaky from her sobbing. _ “I knew you would…” _ she cried, _ “everyone always forgets about me…” _

“AAAGH!”

Chance jumped from Jeremy’s sudden scream. The cloaked figure was sprinting away from him, shouting something from over his shoulder as he fled.

_ “ILEFTTHESTOVEONI’LLBEBACKSOON-!” _

And he was gone.

...That tiny Bunsen-burner thing he used was a stove?

Well, now he had to handle this all by himself. Shaking his head, he walked over to where the girl sat hunched over, resting a hand on her shoulder_ got about me. Why do they always forget about me? _

_ Shhh… I understand, my child. _

_ Y-You do? _

_ Better than anyone else, I understand the pain of being forgotten. _

_ … _

_ Of seeing warmth flow all around you, seeing other’s joy, seeing their smiles. But all through a window, from the inside, looking out. None of their smiles face you, their joy seeming so cold and distance. All of it, cold and distant. The warmth flows everywhere, but always seems to flow around you. You’re invisible. _

_ I… _

_ Though, a small word of advice. That invisibility can be quite handy; you can work from the shadows to bring yourself back into the light. When you’re forgotten, you’re the last person they’ll ever expect. _

_ I’m… not sure what to do with that information. _

_ Hmph. I don’t expect you to be. Perhaps you’ll know when the time comes. _

_ … _”Oh?! Who are you?”

Chance blinked, feeling as though he were somehow cut off from something. “Uhm… You alright?” he asked, dodging her question. Bretta flinched, seemingly startled by his warm touch.

She shook her head in a daze, blinking a few times, and Chance had to do an _ actual _ double take - the orange glow in her eyes had faded entirely. She’d gone from being completely enthralled by the Infection, to being completely healthy in a matter of seconds.

_ WHY DOESN’T MINE WORK LIKE THAT. >:( _

“M-Me? Oh! Yes, I-I’m alright,” the poor girl stuttered out while Chance’s brain was still flung for a loop trying to figure out how Bretta’s Infection had somehow all vanished in an instant for seemingly no reason. 

(He didn’t realize it then, but the main reason Bretta squirmed under his gaze was from the glare he was unknowingly giving her.)

“I-I'm sorry. I got lost, I don't know how I ended up here,” she said, cupping her face with a claw to hide her embarrassed flush. “I... you came here to rescue _ me, _ Bretta? The girl that everyone just... ignores?”

Chance felt a twinge of pity for her, and a part of him wonders exactly _ why _ she had wound up all the way out in this empty, desolate part of the Wastes, where nobody would find her. He awkwardly tried to give an encouraging smile and said, “I mean, I couldn’t just leave you here, could I?”

Beretta gives a small smile, before it grows into a much larger, warmer grin. “I just can't believe you two came all the way down here to rescue me. I didn't think anybody…”

Chance only smiled back.

And then he stopped.

“‘You two’?”

_ ...pat pat _

Chance flinched as two small, cold, chitinous hands ran through his hair, patting him softly on the head. He swirled to his right, nobody was there. To his left. Nobody.

He tilted his head upwards, and came face-to-face with the two, upside-down pale horns, and empty eyes of Tusk, sitting on his shoulders.

“TUSK!” he shouted, startling Bretta. Chance scrambled to his feet, reaching behind his neck to gently lift Tusk off and into his arms, where he pulled them into a tight embrace. _ “Ohmyfuckinggodyouresafeimsosorryimsosorry-” _

_ pat pat pat, _Tusk’s hand went on his arm. Fighting back against his watery eyes, Chance loosened the hug so he could look down properly at Tusk, resting in his lap. “How’d you find me?” Tusk only shrugged.

“And… How’d you get on my back without me noticing?”

Wordless as always, Tusk stood up, stepping off of his lap. They held up their hands, and two small, sharp claws grew out of them. Chance had almost forgotten the Tusk had grabbed a pair of Mantis Claws, too. They walked around behind him, where they grabbed on the back of Chance’s shirt with the claws. Surprisingly, Chance didn’t feel the claws poking through the shirt, and could barely feel the tugging as Tusk climbed up his back, until they eventually sat themselves down on his shoulders, their stubby legs dangling around his neck, and their hands - claws retracted - running through his hair.

Chance laughed. “I keep forgetting how light you are. I can barely feel you up there. I hope climbing my back like this isn’t gonna tear my clothes…”

Bretta coughed, getting Chance and Tusk’s attention again. “Sorry... I mean, thank you. I'd better go. Back to town I mean. I'd better get home.”

Chance smiled, and Tusk waved. “Right. Make sure to stay safe, okay?”

“Right… Th... thank you.”

* * *

Of course, Chance’s content mood was ruined by him stepping on a patch of loose rubble within seconds of standing up, and falling to the area below.

And Jeremy just happened to be passing through said area right as he fell.

“You, uh, you alright there, buddy?”

Chance only gave a muffled groan.

* * *

“We can talk about how you _ left _ me here for _ three hours _ later, but first, why don’t you introduce me to your _ new friends?” _

Chance cringed under the venom in Rio’s voice. He deserved it, really. Hell, there wasn’t _ enough _ venom. On the upside, maybe getting scolded would help him feel like less of an ass over time.

“A-Ah, hello-” Jeremy stammered out from his hiding spot behind Chance. “Jeremy. M-My _ name’s _, Jeremy. My-name-is-Jer-e-my. Nicetomeetchu.”

Rio eyed him up and down, judging him silently, before chuckling softly. “Do not be so tense, dear, I won’t eat you. Yet.” Jeremy cowered from over Chance’s shoulder for a long moment, before shying away behind his back yet again with a peep. With a huff, Rio turned to the small bug riding on Chance’s shoulders. “And who might _ this _ little one be?”

“Hm? Oh, this is Tusk,” Chance brought up a hand to caress the small knight, who leaned into the warmth of his touch. “They’ve been with me for a while now, actually. They, uh, got away from the Village earlier, and we kinda split up then.”

Rio’s eyes widened in recognition. “Ah, yes, I thought I overheard the guards mentioning two intruders, even though we only found you. Clearly, stealth is not your strong suit.”

“I…” He sighed in defeat, “Yeah.”

“Which is going to be a problem, because you can’t just waltz back into the Village. No, I’m afraid we’re going to have to hide you on your way in somehow.”

...Wait, what?

“Waitwaitwait, you’re going _ where?!” _ Jeremy spoke up, his voice frightened. “Going to the Mantis Village is a death sentence! I’d stay away if I were you, they _ hate _ strangers.”

“Well, uh…” Chance rubbed the back of his head anxiously, “I’m not exactly a _ stranger _.”

“Oh! Well, then that changes things.”

“I kind of broke in, stole a set of their claws, and beat up one of their scouts.”

_ “YOU WHAT?!” _

“And yet, you _ still _ have not accomplished your goal,” Rio chimed in. “You’ve yet to challenge our Lords, and you can barely handle a single soldier. If you wish for a fair fight, without interference, and at your full strength, then you’ll need to get around the _ entire village _ somehow.”

“W-Wait, hold on,” Chance glared at her, “What makes you think I want to fight your _ Lords? _ ” He was getting tired of having to constantly remind himself of his real goal; he was down here looking for a _ cure _ . _ Not _ to pick fights with Lords who he could safely assume would tear him to bits within seconds if he so much as looked at them funny.

Rio blinked. “You said so yourself.”

“Wh- No I didn’t, when did I-”

Rio’s eyes flashed golden.

_ “-er-the-test-set-for-you-think-not-” _

Chance’s eyes flashed golden.

_ “-of-it-as-a-chal-lenge-think-of-it-as-an-ex-per-” _

Something - like a thin layer over Chance’s mind -snapped, and Chance staggered backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground with a thud. Rio only gave him a sly, sideways smile, sitting back down on the bench, reclining back with one leg crossed over the other. She let herself stretch out, before giving a satisfied sigh.

“_ Ahh _ , how I want to be _ furious _ with you, human,” she hummed, “But I just cannot bring myself to be.”

Mhmm. He’s just too lovable to be angry at.

...Chance felt like he’d just been slapped.

_ (What the hell kind of thought just crossed his mind?! Was… was he thinking in the _ third person _ now? No, that couldn’t have been him, he was too self-loathing to think that on his own.) _

“Uhh…” Jeremy muttered, standing awkwardly in a corner. “Are you two… alright? You got… kinda _ weird _ there, for a sec.”

Rio cracked a smile. “Worry not. We have an infiltration to plan, with _ you,” _ she pointed to Chance, still sprawled across the ground, “as our _ star.” _

Chance gulped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Superstition by Stevie Wonder.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Magic Carpet Ride by Steppenwolf  
Jeremy by Pearl Jam
> 
> WOOO NEW CHAPTER JUST IN TIME FOR THE NEW YEAR
> 
> now I can say we've gotten at least one chapter out for every month of 2020. it's hard to grasp that we've been writing this story for an entire year now, and we're not even to the Mantis Lords yet. I plan on seeing this story the whole way through but wew, it's gonna be a long ride.
> 
> Chance learns that the Infection isn't just some random thing that happened, and also meets a new friend! who likes to cook! i think you'll like Jeremy a lot as he develops more throughout the story :) Cause why would i do world-building with characters and places and history when i could do it with food?! who cares if my plant names suck if it sounds like it tastes good
> 
> we were gonna have this chapter include the Mantis Lords fight too, but decided to cut it short to get it out a bit sooner. next chapter's gonna be reaally fun, i promise. i've started working on a habit of just getting only 100-200 words out a day, more if i get in the mood, and i've been feeling a lot better about my writing, both in terms of quality and actually making consistent progress instead of just dumping 3k words in a day after 3 weeks of nothing. I honestly feel like I've improved a lot since I started this story almost a full year ago, and I think Piston can say the same, too.
> 
> That said, we were thinking of possibly taking a small break at some point, either after this chapter or the next (so you're not left in suspense :) ), both to work on our own projects, maybe re-write older chapters, or just relax a little.
> 
> Speaking of editing old chapters, I've been considering changing Tusk's name back to just Ghost. Idk why, I'm just so used to Ghost that reading my own work feels weird. But not only am I trying to decide if I should change their name or not, but I'm also struggling to decide that IF i do change their name, whether I should have something happen later in the story that changes it, or if it'd be better to go back and edit previous chapters. I'm confident I could do it convincingly, it's just a matter of whether I want to or not. What do you think?
> 
> Anyway, happy new year's, late happy holidays, please leave a comment/review, and we'll see you when we get the next chapter out :)


	17. Sultans of Swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You feel alright, when you hear the music ring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (MINOR) CONTENT WARNING: This chapter *should* be fine but just in case. References to severe injury, including dismemberment, as well as references to sexual themes.

It’s an interesting little story you’ve got here.

Oh, the somber tale of the wanderer, stripped of his being and left to die in a world he does not hail from! The bold fable of the hero, vainly hunting in a hostile world for a greater purpose! Oh, the grueling trials of the dying man, with nothing to lose and all the world to gain, willing to surrender all ‘til his dying breath!

…

…

...Oh, Gods damn it all. 

I’m tired of playing these games, Chance.

I’m uncertain of how to say this, but... Those visions of your beaten and battered body, lying in a pool of your own blood?

Do you think those were meant as _ threats?_

I am trying to _ warn _ you. _ Warn _you of what’s to come.

Don’t you get it?

…

...

The blood, the wounds, the… _ agony. _ It’s not some obscure premonition of a possible future, or even of a _ likely _ future.

It’s of the _ past. _ It’s already happened.

Your choices, your actions, your words. All of them are meaningless when they are all written for you.

All of this, happening right “now”? It’s in your head. An escape from the pain.

Luckily for you, the mind is my absolute domain.

…

...

Do you understand what I’m offering to you? I cannot do anything for your body, but I can save your mind.

I cannot heal your wounds, but I can erase your suffering.

All you have to do... is give in to me.

Give me complete control.

_ Surrender everything. _

I can save you from the agony of this failure, and every possible failure to come. You’ll be free from the inevitable suffering.

You won’t need to keep running. You won’t need to keep fighting. You could finally lay your weary head down, and _ rest. _

…

…

...

Are you even listening to me?

…

…

...

If you insist. My offer remains open for… however much time you have left.

…

...

As I said, it’s an interesting little story you’ve got here.

...

**Wouldn’t you like to know how it ends?**

...

* * *

...

_ Bonk! _

“Ow! Rio, what the _ hell _ are you-”

_ Bump! _

“FUCK!”

“Oops,” Rio said, unapologetic. It was pitch-black, and everything was too warm and leathery and _ tight. _ Chance felt like he’d been shoved in a vacuum-sealed bag; he didn’t consider himself a claustrophobic person, but he didn’t think anyone, especially him, could handle this very well. He had to curl himself up in a fetal position, and he could only barely make out the muffled noises around him, much less see.

And it didn’t help that Rio was just dragging them all over the dirt.

“D’ow! T-This is cruel and unusual punishment!”, he could hear Jeremy protest from somewhere… nearby. He gave up on relying on his senses a while ago.

“Shut up before someone hears you.”

_ “y-y-yyyyyesma’am.” _

Chance could do nothing but curl up a bit tighter and hold his hands protectively over his head. Rio had already made it _ crystal _ clear that this was his punishment for… well, for all the stupid shit he’s done so far, and he was less than keen to argue with the ticked-off Mantis lady.

Besides, this was kind of their only way in.

“Rio. You’ve returned… and without the Trickster in tow, I see,” grunted out an unrecognizable voice. He immediately caught on as it being one of the Village guards, and clamped a hand over his mouth, silently praying to whatever God governed this backwards world that Jeremy was currently doing the same.

“Ah, yes, about that,” Rio’s voice wavered for a moment before she found her confidence again, “The kind soul he was, offered to help me with hunting duties--”

“You don’t _ have _ hunting duties--”

“--Just to grab a quick bite for him and I. He had felled two Fungoons, but a sneaky Sporg managed to catch his blindside, and the explosion blew him completely to bits!”

A pause, as the guard recovered from Rio’s dramatic retelling of a story that never happened, “Completely?”

“_ Completely!”, _ she reiterated, probably waving her arms in the air like the maniac she was. “Not even a body left to find! Merely a red skid mark where he once stood!”

“...I…see…”

“Oh, but I felt pity for the late young man, and could not let his efforts go to waste. I managed to recover his kills, and carried them back here.”

“...Well…” Chance couldn’t blame the guard for needing a minute to process this. The thief that captured one of their scouts, stole a prized treasure of theirs, and caused enough chaos to capture the attention of the entire Village, had simply up and “died” in a random explosion the same day. Rio’s story had him _ literally _ go out with a bang.

And now he was dead. Apparently. That wouldn’t be too easy to explain away when it turned out that he wasn’t.

“Erm…” the guard continued, “That’s… alright. I will take the kills--”

“Oi.” Chance felt his body suddenly jerk to the side, and he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from making any sound in the cramped darkness. “I’ll handle these myself. I dragged them all the way here, didn’t I?”

“...Well, then I’ll inform Lightfoot--”

_ “I can do it myself,” _ Rio spat. Even though she was still acting, Chance could hear genuine anger in her voice. “Do not treat me like some _ invalid._ I’m not an empty husk just yet.” Before the guard could say another word, Rio pulled them all along through the gates and into the Village proper.

Suffocating darkness is one thing. Suffocating darkness surrounded by the sounds of angry Mantises is an entirely different horror. Chance could only quake in quiet terror as Rio strode proudly into the heart of the Village.

* * *

_ “Bleh!” _ Jeremy was hunched over in a corner, gasping for fresh air. “Seriously? _ That _ was the best plan you could come up with?!”

Rio huffed indignantly. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

The Mantises were proud creatures, willing and able to defend their home to their final breaths. Tusk only managed to sneak out once because the entire rest of the tribe was hyperfocused on Chance’s wild flailing; it wouldn’t be so easy to sneak back in without causing alarm. Even if Tusk miraculously managed to get in silently, Jeremy and Chance would certainly have no such luck. They were bigger, noisier, clumsier. Simply sneaking in wasn’t an option. They had to hide in plain sight.

Jeremy proposed that Rio could pose as having beaten Chance and Tusk in a fight, and returned them as prisoners. It sounded good, but wouldn’t have worked; it’d be too suspicious for Rio to have advocated for Chance before and then suddenly turned on him. Again, the Mantises were proud creatures, and didn’t rely on trickery and deception to get what they wanted.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the Tribe, Rio was apparently a glaring exception to this, since she just smuggled them all in right under the Tribe’s noses.

The Fungoons of the Wastes, the large, bloated creatures floating around the region, were generally passive in nature. They only exhume heavy toxic gas when they feel that they are threatened, and otherwise have a very docile behavior. When killed, the toxic gas in their bodies gushes out, and they deflate like a balloon. Their bodies are observed to be very flexible, like rubber, while also being difficult to tear into (unless the meat is cooked to flavorful tenderness). The use this rubbery property of theirs to--

...W-Wait, no, come back! This is important, I promise!

O-Okay… Okay, so they use this-- the Fungoons use this rubbery property of theirs to contain all the toxic gas they later expel, bloating up their bodies, like how a camel stores water in its hump. So, it follows that if a Fungoon’s body can store toxic gas, then its corpse could store just about anything in it. The body would simply stretch out to accommodate the size of whatever is within it, essentially making Fungoon corpses giant, leathery bags.

Perfect for smuggling drugs. Or people. 

You’d want to clean the insides, first, though.

Chance sat against a wall, still reeling from the whole experience. Thankfully, the Fungoon’s flesh was within the “walls” of the balloon and not just inside their mouths. He’d rather not sit in a bag of meat compared to a bag of… whatever mushrooms were supposed to be made of.

Ignorance was bliss.

Taking a deep breath of fresh air -- well, the freshest air he’d breathed in the last fifteen minutes -- he gave a sideways glance at Rio, the mastermind behind his suffering. “So… where are we, anyway?”

“In a small storage area, deeper within the Village,” she murmured, not even glancing in his direction. She focused on the nearest door, as though expecting guards to come charging in at any second. “The Lords will be in their throne room, in the very depths of the Village, likely sealed off for security.”

The… Lords. The Mantis Lords. Right. He _ knew _ they were important to him, but whenever he reached for a reason in his mind, it fizzled away, his hand only clenching around fog. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he glanced over. “How’re you holdin’ up, Tusk-...?”

...Tusk?

He shot up from where he was sitting, glancing around the room frantically. “Where’s Tusk?”

Jeremy looked up, blinked, and tried pulling open one of the discarded Fungoon corpses. “Uhhmm… Not here.” He flinched as Chance threw his hands up, giving the room one final glance over before storming over to the door, only for Rio to hold a bladed arm up against his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m not doing anything without Tusk,” he firmly said, reaching for the door handle. Rio stopped him, holding her arm against his wrist, the cool, sharp blade barely pressing into his skin.

“And yet, you seem awfully prepared to step out in the middle of a city of angry Mantises wanting your blood spilled.” Her orange glare bore into him.

“I just wanna make sure they’re safe.”

“Of _ course _ they’re safe. If anything, they’re probably worried about _ you,_ judging from how you’re always hiding behind them.”

Now it was Chance’s turn to glare at her. “I’m not _ hiding _ behind them.”

“Then where was this attitude _ before _ you found them again?”

Chance and Rio stared daggers into each other, neither one paying any mind to Jeremy cowering in the corner.

“Chance,” the Mantis huffed finally, “I won’t say anything _ sentimental, _ like that I ‘care for you’ or that I’m ‘worried about you,’” she stared deeper into him. “But for _ your _ sake, _ step away from the door."_

The room went deathly silent.

Jeremy gulped.

“...Make me.”

Rio took one step forward, and a heavy _ THUNK _ echoed through the room.

Chance and Rio both jumped more than they’d have liked to admit. Jeremy nearly had a heart attack. Hesitantly, Chance tugged the door open, and the pale mask of Tusk peeked through the crack.

Someone viewing the storage ward from the outside would only see the tiny bug be suddenly yoinked through the doorway.

_ “Ohthankgodyour’resafe,” _ Chance breathed, sitting against the wall again while he smothered Tusk into his shirt. The small warrior wrapped their stubby arms around Chance’s abdomen as best as they could, and Chance gently ran a hand over their polished, seemingly porcelain head, petting them affectionately.

Rio crossed her arms and sighed, leaning back against the closed door. “Heartwarming,” she stated matter-of-factly, “Though I can’t help but be concerned by your willingness to throw yourself in harm’s way for your tiny friend, who is _ more than capable _ of defending themselves.”

Chance didn’t respond. Jeremy meekly scooted over next to Chance and reached out to pet Tusk on the head, silently giggling to himself. Rio rolled her eyes.

“So did your ‘Tusk’ friend go out for a _ reason,_ or…?” At this, Tusk wiggled out of Chance’s arms and held up a small object in their tiny hands(claws? It was different for every bug, he supposed).

Rio’s eyes widened. “A Mark of Pride! I wasn’t aware we had any just lying around. Not bad…Tusk.” At this, she too gave the small bug a pat on the head(gently, and minding her bladed arms), who leaned into her touch almost adoringly.

“A ‘Mark of Pride?’”, Chance asked. Tusk hopped out of his lap and pulled out their nail, before pinning the charm proudly on their chest. Almost immediately, the light around their nail began to shimmer, before an ethereal edge glowed sharply along the blade. The transparent edge, however, extended beyond the metal part of the blade, effectively extending its range. Chance could see the real nail underneath it, but there was no doubt that this “ghostly” part of the nail was just as lethal as the solid metal underneath it.

Jeremy sat staring at the sword in awe. “I thought these were meant to be handed out only to those who were held in the highest esteem in the Mantis Tribe… and you can just… _ take _ one?”

“Well, you can _ ‘just take’ _ almost anything in the world, if you have both the skill and no care for the consequences,” Rio shrugged. “Speaking of which, if the rest of the Tribe wasn’t already planning on killing you for stealing a Claw, they’ll most certainly want to do it now that you’ve robbed them of a Mark.”

She shook her head, walking over to the door. “I hope you intend on _ winning _ your next fight, Chance, or the consequences for your crimes may be… _ dire."_

Chance didn’t respond.

Jeremy only gulped in horror as they all stood to leave.

* * *

“W-Wai-Hold on, so like, when you said--”

“Yes, Chance, by ‘deeper in the Village’, I _ literally _ meant _'__deeper down.’” _

“The vertical expansion here is impressive for something labeled as a Tribe. You _ sure _ you guys are savages, Rio?”

“...”

* * *

_ “KILL HIM!” “KILL THE TRICKSTER!” “THEY’VE STOLEN THE MARK OF PRIDE!” “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” “TEAR HIM TO SHREDS!” “BURN HIS FLESH!” “STICK HIM UP ON A PIKE!” _

“SHUDDUP!”

Chance slammed the door behind him with all his might, an entire army of infuriated Mantises right at his heel. They scratched and scattered against the heavy stone door, but this door was meant to hold out against a potential invasion; something that not even the Mantis Warriors could crack. Chance quickly flung down a nearby barrier over the door, keeping it sealed as it bumped and banged with the force of an entire Tribe of warriors.

He leaned up against a wall, before his knees gave way and he slowly slid down until he was curled up on the floor. They were safe, for now.

“Y-You alright, Tusk?” he asked, wiping his brow of a cold sweat as he struggled to catch his breath. The small knight nodded, unfazed by the events of the last ten minutes.

Rio had said that if they managed to get this far and seal the door behind them, they’d be safe, and there wouldn’t be anything left between them and the Mantis Lords. The problem was actually _ getting _ there; the place was swarming(oh, har-har.) with Mantises, and if Chance showed his face, it’d be sliced off in a second. Rio’s _ bright idea _ was to cause a distraction on the opposite end of the village, where Chance and Tusk would either sneak down to the door, or if things went wrong, sprint for their lives.

Things went wrong, so they sprinted for their lives.

Chance wasn’t a hundred percent certain what had happened in the rush of it all, but it looked to him like he’d gone just a bit prematurely, and one of the last stragglers had caught sight of him, sounding the alarm. As always, he was still useless at stealth. Rio and Jeremy would probably be a little pissed that he botched their efforts of making a distraction.

Oh, _ Jeremy. _ Would he be alright? Surely, the Mantises wouldn’t harm one of their own, but the poor guy was still an outsider here. Would Rio be able to protect him, like she had for Chance?

Well… he wouldn’t be able to find out unless he opened this door, which was the absolute last thing he wanted to do right now. Hopefully, they both -- him particularly -- just got swept up in the crowd and managed to sneak away.

Standing up, he followed Tusk down the hall to a pi-

A p- a pit. A pit.

A pit. Just a straight, square hole. At the end of an empty, unmarked hallway that was like, twenty feet long.

Who the hell designed this place?

Sighing with resignation, he let the Mantis claws morph onto his hands -- it’d been a hot minute since he’s done that, he needed to get more used to these things -- he leapt onto the opposite wall and began sliding down, with Tusk following him further up.

The stupid hallway-pit opened up into a much more grand room, befitting of not merely one Lord, but three. He took a shaky breath as he stepped into the grand throne room, the corpses of beasts impaled on pikes around the room. It was oddly _ spacious _; it seemed like it could’ve housed a sports stadium instead of thrones.

Four thrones, with the rightmost one demolished.

Stepping forwards, inching closer towards the towering figures of the Lords upon their thrones, Chance shuddered. He clenched and unclenched his hands, struggling to beat down the anxiety welling up in his chest. He’d done it. He’d reached the elusive Mantis Lords, he’d accomplished his goal here.

_ Your choices, your actions, your words. All of them are meaningless when they are all written for you. _

So what was this feeling of inescapable _ dread? _

The earth before the thrones was surrounded in what looked like a large, copper trapdoor, shaped in a semicircle in front of the thrones, as though marking some kind of boundary. Chance nervously glanced in Tusk’s direction, gulped, and the two warriors stepped over the line before the Lords.

The three glanced up in their direction, but otherwise said nothing. They didn’t look like the other Mantises; instead of antennae, they had large, uncomfortable-looking blue horns, and instead of bladed arms, they had actual hands(_Claws?_ Oh my God, I’ll just say hands. It doesn’t matter. Leave me alone.) They were also _ staggeringly _ tall; maybe the distance was just difficult to judge, but they each had to be at _ least _ twice his height. Minimum.

They stepped forward to what felt like a respectable distance, and Chance cleared his throat, jumping at how far his cough carried through the echoing caverns. He mustered up all the manners he could because _ oh God I’m practically a war criminal to them, _ and spoke,

“Hello!”

The Lords remained silent.

“...I, ahm… I stand before you, today, to… request…” He clenched and unclenched his fists again, “I-I wish to know if you happen to have any… information, on a... cure to the Infection.”

…

...

...The Lords remained silent.

_ I’m uncertain of how to say this. _

“I uh, I heard from a friend that ah-- I-It is my understanding, that the Mantis Tribe is mostly untouched by the Infection, and I figured that-- It was my _ assumption, _ that you may have some kind of, er, _ secret _ that you could uh, _ lend _ to me.”

...

The Lords maintained their silent stare.

...

_ “...T-Though, now that I’m thinkin’ about it,” _ he mumbled, _ “If you had anything like that, Rio wouldn’t be Infected so uhh…” _

The Lords’ stare was finally getting to him, and he awkwardly glanced away, feeling hot under the collar. He noticed a large, dark hallway to the left, with a hauntingly menacing aura emanating from it.

“What’s uh, what’s over in there? Is that like a cellar, or a garage, or…?” He guessed he was just trying to make small talk? He took a few steps closer, but the moment he left the copper ring in the center, the large door was suddenly sealed off with a heavy _ slam _ of a stone door.

Chance jumped at the sound, feeling like he’d just heard a cannon go off, and spun around just in time to see the leftmost Lord with her arm outstretched towards the door, before she lowered it back to her side.

He stood in place for a spell, trying to calm his rattled nerves, before he took a deep breath. “Alright. Alright, it’s private space, I get that, I won’t budge. Er, I won’t _ judge-- _ I’m not gonna bug you about it. A-Ahm, sorry. I mean-”

He threw his hands in the air and, at risk of being immediately decapitated and shoved onto a pike, raised his voice;

_ Are you even listening to me? _

The silence spoke volumes. Chance huffed.

“Alright. Then I’ll… leave.”

One of them finally blinked. Wait, were they not blinking that whole time?

“Yeah!” Chance nearly shouted, starting to feel petty rebellion well up in him. “I’ll just leave. Like, now. See ya.”

So he and Tusk clambered back up the wall they came without another word, and left the Mantis Lords in silence.

Just like that.

…

...

…

…

…

…

…

Three voices.

Voice #1:_ “He looks JUST like her!” _

Voice #2:_ “Hmph. He lacks everything else she had. Aside from his status as a criminal to the Tribe, I’d say he’s not worth our time.” _

Voice #1:_ “I wouldn’t say that. I witnessed his scuffle with Lightfoot the other hour.” _

Voice #3:_ “I’d like to say it’s unlikely for him and… _ her, _ to have ever known each other. Though, it _ has _ been quite a while since a human has ever set foot within Hallownest.” _

Voice #1:_ “Another human, here in Hallownest…” _

Voice #2:_ “And what? Do we owe their entire race for the actions of one?” _

Voice #1:_ “Well…” _

Voice #2:_ “Banish the thought, my Sister. Besides, he has robbed us of our treasures and tarnished our traditions; he has long since fallen out of any favor he may have had with us.” _

Voice #3:_ “He requested a… _ cure, _ to the Infection? Why, if we had such a thing with us, I can scarcely imagine what we would do with that power.” _

Voice #2:_ “Surely not hand it out to thieves on the road. We are not a charity.” _

Voice #1:_ “Perhaps… we would be able to save--?” _

Voice #2:_ “Do not even speak of him. No use mucking about in fantasy.” _

Voice #3:_ “And what of the little one who accompanied him? They carried themselves with a certain air about them that I feel at least calls for our interest.” _

Voice #2:_ “They appeared to be a… Vessel, Sister Oasis.” _

Voice #3:_ “Ah, yes… one of the Pale Wyrm’s endless follies and atrocities. How to handle them…? _

Voice #2:_ “They are likely an accomplice to the human’s growing list of crimes against our people. Just another ghost needing to be put to rest. Nothing more.” _

Voice #1:_ “Well… Perhaps we could--” _

“Nevermind, I’m back.”

Immediately, all voices in the Lords’ throne room came to a halt. The only noise to be heard was Chance and Tusk scraping their ways back down into the room with their (stolen) Mantis Claws. Chance strode back into the ring with less resignation this time, glancing around the room and between the Lords as he spoke.

“Yeah, I got so caught up in being petty that I forgot that the only way out of here is through the sealed door with a pissed-off mob on the other side. Don’t feel like dying today, so I’ll just uhh, stay here for now.”

…

…

...The Mantis Lords regarded him in silence.

…

“...What were you sayin’ about ghosts or somethin’?”

…

…

…

“Hey, uhh, listen. I couldn’t help but overhear--” He rubbed the back of his head nervously, “Overheard the end of that bit. And I realized that uh, yeah, I kind of _ am _ a criminal? Like, here, to your tribe? So, uhh.. Alright, hey, let’s strike a deal or something. I’ll return all the stuff I stole, and issue a uhm, _ public apology _, but I need help moving forward with this… place.”

…

…

…

“A-As in like, all you’d have to do is just give me a pointer or two, help me on my way deeper down, and I’d be out of your hair. Permanently. Out of your… antennae? Oh, but you don’t have… antennae…”

…

…

“I-I should just… leave. I’ll… see myself out.”

...

…

…

…

...

...Something in the room was… growing.

Like a heat, like a heavy blanket.

Like a thermostat about to shatter.

Something was growing _ impatient. _

_ My offer remains open for… however much time you have left. _

And here he was, the clock was ticking, marching onwards into infinity. Ripples turned into a tidal wave, and castles turned into sand.

Chance marched onward with the beat of the second, back turned from his fate, and everything drew to a close, the stars aligned,

and the clock

struck

midnight.

_ Shhink! _

Chance whipped around, eyes widening in terror at the sight of Tusk standing alone before the Lord Trio with their nail drawn, standing in challenge to the Mantis Lords. The Lords stood in unison, finally responsive to someone who spoke their language, and the copper trapdoors around the throne room opened to reveal a massive pit of lethal spikes, surrounding Tusk and the Lords on all sides.

_ No, not a throne room, _ Chance realized with growing terror. The massive, empty space, the corpses on spikes, all of it suddenly made sense.

_ This isn’t a throne room. It’s an arena. _

Something on the ceiling rattled, and a cage began falling onto the arena, intending to lock Tusk alone with three deadly foes. Chance wasn’t sure what overtook him, but he sprinted over with his heart pounding in his chest and legs pounding into the dirt, before making a desperate leap into the arena, narrowly avoiding getting trapped under the cage’s bars by mere inches.

He landed flat on his chest, knocking out all the wind in him, before quickly scrambling further into the arena floor to avoid falling into the spikes. When he stood, he and Tusk were locked in the cage surrounded by spikes with no way out, and one of the Mantis Lords had disappeared from sight.

_ Oh, Chance, my dear. _

_ You’ve just sealed your fate. _

* * *

She was impossible to pin down. 

At one moment, she would be striking at Chance, only to immediately launch an assault at Tusk. And the next, she would be up near the top of the cage, clinging to the bars.

When she landed there again, Tusk valiantly leapt up, nail drawn back to strike at her exposed form. Just as they drew close, however, the Lord sprung from the wall, impossibly fast, and in the same motion, dove at Chance with her lance-like blade.

_ Shit-! _

Mind burning with adrenaline, he dove to the ground. The Mantis Lord just barely missed him, only grazing his side. In the rush, he barely felt the biting pain of his tumble, or the bite of the blade. Tusk swept to his side, and helped him to his feet.

Already, the Lord had vanished once again, all left of her a stiff breeze. Chance and Tusk stood back to back, heads wildly shooting about to find her.

_ How the hell is she doing that?! _

She was fast. Unnaturally so.

Chance caught a blur of motion, but by the time he turned his head, it had already become nothing more than wind.

_ She was wind. _

_ She was everywhere and nowhere. _

A violent air current ripped above them. A blur. The Lord, for a moment frozen in the air, nail poised to skewer them from above. Tusk, with lightning reflexes of their own, tackled Chance just as the Mantis plunged downward.

Even then, she barely missed, her nail embedded into the ground where he once lay, now right between his feet. She glanced up, and her eyes met Chance’s for a heartstopping second. That second was all she needed to wrench her nail free, but that brief pause was also more than enough for Tusk.

A vicious bite of their blade embedded into one of the Lord’s slender limbs. She hissed venomously, and forced her blade out of the stone. Chance futilely tried to stop her by grabbing one of her legs, but _ today shall be remembered as a great loss for our Tribe. Many, if not all of us, have lost family members and loved ones, to this… this _ insurgence.

_ A child may run off, leaving a cold nest for their parents to wake up to; or a parent may run off, leaving a defenseless infant alone in the dark. _

_ Or perhaps a brother may flee into the blinding light, chasing dreams of peace and strength for his own loved ones, unaware -- or perhaps uncaring -- that his efforts to protect them, hurt them more than he could ever imagine. _

_ Today is a day of mourning. But it is not a day of despair. _

_ With heavy hearts, and _with another gust of wind, Oasis had vanished from sight.

Chance stumbled back to the ground, blinking rapidly, head throbbing.

What _ was _that?

He shook his head, scrambling to his feet. Oasis, clinging again to the bars of the cage, hanging high above them. Tusk was already scaling up to her with their claws. Just as they reached her, the Lord did… _ something _ with her nail. The world around her warped almost imperceptibly, and Chance had to squint to see it clearly.

The blade tore the very air apart, unnaturally bending around the blade. A whistling maelstrom, a razor sharp edge of wind, shot out from the distortion. Tusk, at the apex of their jump, was squarely hit by it with a sickening crack. Several cracks were running across their mask, and they were sent tumbling down.

Chance was already running to where Tusk was about to land, not even thinking.

He tripped, sprawling out on the ground. A moment later, Tusk landed just in front of him, tumbling onto the stony surface. They lay still for a second, before shakily getting up, only to jump to the side as Oasis flew past. There was enough of an opening to get to Tusk, and with a hand on them, revitalize them.

A faint shadow fell over them.

He grabbed Tusk’s wrist, and with a leap, dodged to the side, just in time to miss the Mantis.

Tusk’s blade found home in the prone Lord’s body, but with another gale, she had disappeared.

_Was she… teleporting?! _

There was no way that speed was natural, even for the lithe Mantis. What sorcery was this?

Impossibly, he swore Tusk’s eye sockets grew wider, looking at something behind him. He whipped around, only to get a close look at the charging Lord. 

Tusk leaped out of the way, while he desperately rolled to the side. But, he wasn’t fast enough.

The Lord tackled him to the ground, her nail missing his head by an inch and embedding into the stone once again. She wrenched her nail free, and raised it just above her head.

Oh god, he was going to die here.

He stared at the glistening blade, a singular moment, a millisecond, frozen in his mind. One miniscule slipup had led to this. The future had closed itself to him.

…

_ He didn’t want to leave Tusk. _

…

Suddenly, moonlight flooded the cage and slammed into Oasis, forcefully knocking her off of him. A moment later, Tusk had vaulted over Chance’s prone body, and latched onto her, nail in hand.

Tusk simply wouldn’t let go of Oasis. Their grip was true, and she couldn’t shake them off. They were too quick; as soon as she tried to pull them off, they would scurry to another position. She, at one point, took a blind stab at them, almost stabbing herself in the process.

While the two fought, Chance got back to his feet. Almost immediately, he doubled over, orange bile spewing from his throat.

Oh _ god, _ he was going to _ die here. _

The Mantis Lord finally managed to shake Tusk off. They flew through the air, landing close to him.

The Mantis Lord landed galey at the edge of the cage, lance already prepared for a charge. Time stood still for just a moment. A slight posture shift sent Oasis hurtling their way, fully intending to skewer them. Move now, or die.

_ God, this was going to hurt. _

Chance screwed his eyes shut. Screaming very un-heroically, he lunged at her oncoming form. Under her blade, right into her legs. 

She didn’t _ just _ slam into him. Like running into an oncoming train, the sheer force threw him back, his arms and ribs cracking under the pressure. Oasis didn’t fare much better, as she was thrown off her charge and slammed into the ground. Her nail flew out of her grasp as she rolled, stopping just before falling into the spikes.

Chance hit the ground a moment later, landing hard on his arm. A clear _ Snap! _ sprung through the area, with a muffled shriek of pain from Chance.

_ FUCKfuckFUCkcufkcFUCKfcuKCUFUCK- _

_ F-Focus. _

While he grunted and groaned on the floor, marshalling the willpower to prove that _ his body wasn’t shattered, _ Tusk quickly was at his side.

Chance wrenched his head from his chest.

_"I’m _ **_Fine!_**_" _He shouted, fire in his eyes. His gaze made contact with Tusk’s sockets, causing them to flinch back. 

_ Okay… okay… Focus. _

_ Focus through the pain. _

_ He wasn’t in pain. _

_ He wasn’t- _

He coughed up more orange bile.

_ Everything. Was. Fine. _

_ Everything. Is. Fine. _

He got back onto his _ unbroken, rested _body, stretching slightly.

Tusk glanced at his movement, but kept where they were. The Lord had disappeared, all remaining of her being several splotches of green blood on the ground.

“Did you…”

A nod.

But the cage wasn’t gone, nor the spikes retracted. He spun on his heel to the other Two Lords, still on their thrones.

Wait, no. Two _ remaining _ Lords, and one battered Oasis, sitting sullenly on her throne. Several deep gashes were slashed into her body, still oozing a bit of blood. Tusk certainly did a number on her.

And he’d just sat back, licking his own wounds and hardly helped at all. If nothing else, he felt miles better, compounded off the high of a victory.

He shook his head. They’d won now, right? He could… it didn’t matter. He could just talk his way out of the rest of this now.

As though the music had suddenly come to a slow, Chance stretched his -- not broken -- arms in the air and gave a heavy yawn. _"Weeeell,_” he sighed, “Alright, good fight, good fight!” He cracked out the kinks in his neck, shaking his jittering body out to drain it of the remaining adrenaline.

He gave the trio of Lords a big, friendly smile.

“So, uhh, I beat your boss… can I go home now?”

The two Lords flanking Oasis rose from their thrones wordlessly, and in the blink of an eye, both they and Chance’s smile vanished completely.

_ Shit. _

He barely had time to even blink before a gust of wind blew right next to him. One of the Lords stood poised to charge at Tusk. But where was the other-

Another gust, right above him. On instinct, he threw himself to the side. The Lord landed right next to him. Tusk fared better, elegantly dodging the other noble. 

On a blind hunch, he threw a punch at the Lord that had landed next to him. His fist, just barely, managed to _ land? I’d say that was more of a crash, dear sister. _

_ My thoughts exactly. How will we ever win, with you dragging us down? _

_ Oh, don’t be cruel, R██████. We’ve all had our struggles. Need I remind you of when we were younger? Our spar in the Waterways-- _

_ Tch! Don’t even mention it. We all grow from our suffering. I know I have. _

_ And she will, too. _

_ Oh, but C████r doesn’t. He _ never _ learns. _

_ Mhmhmhm. Yes, perhaps not C████r. _

_ ...We’re doing another match. From the top. Stand up, _ Cecelia’s leg landed in Chance’s gut, launching him away before she vanished. He could’ve sworn he saw his life flash before his eyes as his body rolled just a _ bit _ too close to the spikes along the edges.

<strike>That wasn’t _ his _ life, though, was it?</strike>

One Mantis they had barely managed to beat, but two?

Oh _ god, he was going to die here. _

The only chance they had was for Tusk and himself to divide and conquer, one Lord for each of them. Of course, that plan had more than a few holes, and if he didn’t figure something out _ soon _, he’d have his fair share of holes in him, too. Most glaring of them all, Chance didn’t have any real weapon. Not including his body, but he really didn’t think his mad, suicidal tackling ploy would work again.

He took a step forward, and froze. Nobody was moving. The two Lords hung off the sides of the cage, and Tusk stood still in the center of it all. Even Oasis, tending to her wounds from atop her throne, joined them as they all stared off towards the pit they had entered the throne room from.

And then he heard it. The buzzing of wings, the pounding feet, the buzzing of _ voices _.

He swore he only _ blinked,_ and they were _ everywhere._

The entire rest of the Mantis Tribe surrounded the cage, the bars being the only thing keeping them from mobbing the arena. Hundreds of jeering Mantises, all eyes on _ him,_ all eyes recognizing the one who had robbed them, tarnished them, rejected everything about them. All eyes waiting for him to slip up and spill blood. Screaming for it.

Chance could feel himself tense up; his breathing grew erratic, his shoulders clenched up involuntarily, his feet couldn’t stay _ still._ He had to force himself to not curl up into a ball on the ground from the sheer panic running through him.

There was no good way out of this.

(If Rio and Jeremy were among the crowd, he couldn’t see them anywhere. He hoped they managed to escape. He also hoped they _ didn’t _ escape and came to watch him, just so he didn’t have to feel so _ alone.)_

Turning his gaze back to the arena, he could see the Lords on the move again, and he mentally steeled himself for their next attack.

But, no next attack came.

At him.

Cecelia charged Tusk, who deftly dodged, only to narrowly miss a sharpened blast of air from the other.

Oh. 

Oh, _ God. _

They were _ ignoring _ him.

They knew he was harmless, and now were focusing on the actual threat; Tusk.

Even with Tusk’s endless agility and energy, they couldn’t dodge forever. The Lords could constantly press their attacks and control the flow, giving Tusk no space to counterattack.

He was already running forward. Blindly, in panic, with no thought. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He just needed to _ break it up somehow._

Without even glancing his way, one of the Lords conjured a sharpened blade of air. He ineffectually jumped to the side, but the blade caught his arm. It cut a deep gash into the flesh, hot blood pulsing from the wound.

He fell to the ground with a cry, clutching his wounded arm.

Tusk heard his cry, turning to him for just a second. Their distraction was all the Lords needed. One of them slammed down onto them, nail first, cracking their mask on the stone floor, black matter seeping from their face like blood.

He didn’t even bother with his arm. Tearing his bloodied hand away from the gash, he staggered forward, half-falling towards the Lord that stood over Tusk like a wounded animal that needed to be put out of its misery. His hands grew sharp, and _ I’m loathe to admit it, but even Oasis is starting to miss you. _

_ And you’re not? _

_ Oh, as if. I’m more than capable of surviving without you holding us back. _

_ And as am I. Now, if you’re not here for a drink-- _

_ Damn it, listen to me for once, why don’t you? _

_ I’m listening. I’ve _ been _ listening. I’ve been listening to you all my life, and here I am, in a place where I don’t _ have _ to listen. And yet, here you are. _

_ ...It’s… _ unlike _ us, unlike our tribe, to remain divided so. It’s unnatural. Were the tension in the air any thicker, the younglings could use it for target practice. _

_ Ha, I think that’s just the usual unbearable atmosphere of the Wastes you’re thinking of. Besides, I can’t possibly be causing that much of a disruption-- _

_ You _ and _ your daughter. _

_ Double a tiny value is still tiny. _

Chance wished he could agree, but the two Mantis Lords swirling around him convinced him otherwise.

A wind blade just barely over his shoulder. Another scraping past his ankle. Chance spun around just in time to see Rosanna staring him down like a bull, before she charged forward, intent on impaling him straight through the gut. He reeled back, and he could feel the bite of her blade graze through his side as he hit the ground and she vanished again.

With a pained groan, he rolled over on his mostly unscathed side because he had no time to heal no time to heal no time have to KEEP moving, they were ON him he had seconds left. run RUN keep moving they were on him he had to get out get Tusk get out now he was trappedkeepmovingkeep FIGHTING, keep going they are scum under your heel make them all your BITCHes tear to shreds tear him to shreds seconds seconds seconds they were HERE they were on all sides. Hissing clanging blade on metal the crowd the crowd on him blade through his heart heart stop blood cough up blood. No breathing could not breathe heart blood could not breathe, ground ceiling floor wall? Brown. Copper. Gold. Orange. Green. Blue. Orange. Red. Orange. Orange. Orange Oraneg orange Orange oregne aronge Orange--

Tusk’s eyes met his.

The Lord’s eyes met his.

The Lord’s blade met Tusk’s eyes.

The Lord’s blade stabbed out the back of Tusk’s skull, and pried open their head.

…

* * *

…

He’d shouted “Tusk.” He _ knew _ he had shouted “Tusk” when he saw their neck snapped, mask split clean in two. He’d shouted and he hadn’t heard a thing.

The howls and clamor of the crowd around them had gone mute. He felt the agonizing vibration in his throat, he could feel his mouth moving, but no words came out. None that he could hear, anyway.

He’d hardly felt his footsteps on the ground as he sprinted over to Tusk’s body. It didn’t feel like a sprint. It felt like he was wading through molasses, taking far too long to reach Tusk’s body Tusk’s body on the ground body Tusk was a body head gone head gone head gone-

And then the molasses around his body pulled _ inwards,_ pulled together from the pool it had formed around _ Tusk’s body oh god tusk’s body,_ and Chance was seeing a ghost.

He was still screaming, he could tell. A wetness rolled down his face, and he couldn’t seem to stop it. It didn’t matter; with the numbness welling up from his very core, he wouldn’t be able to see past the blur anyway.

Why was he here? Why did he want to come here so badly? He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t know what he was looking at anymore. Colors and shapes all blended together, and he couldn’t focus on anything he saw. Like trying to make out street lights as the rain pounds on your windshield on a dark night, and you can’t tell if that distant red blur is a stop light or someone’s rear lights. And it didn’t matter by now, anyway; the road was too slick, and it was too late to stop now.

One way or another, all that would be left of you would be the dark skidmarks on the road from the last seconds of your life, trying, begging to turn back, too little too late.

And he was begging, begging for the Lords to just let them _ go, _ begging for mercy, begging for his life back, begging to go home, begging to be free. He didn’t want to die.

So they freed him.

They burned him.

Chance fell on his back, body convulsing, blinking back the tears just long enough to glance over his left shoulder to see the burn, to see his numb and bloodied arm.

His arm, six feet away from his body.

_ It’s an interesting little story you’ve got here. _

And as he bled out, he glanced up and his tired, tangerine eyes gave one final gaze into the blinding headlights of the inky black ghost that was once Tusk.

He vaguely remembered raising a hand to block out the light, the light that threatened to consume him.

** _Wouldn’t you like to know how it ends?_ **

And consume him it did, and Chance knew no more.

…

…

…

…

  
  


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_ beep. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ beep. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ beep. _

_ … _

_ beep. _

_ … _

_ beep. beep. _

_ beep. beep. _

_..._

It was…

...

_ beep. beep. _

_..._

… so _ bright. _

That was the first thing he’d noticed, as consciousness had flowed back into him. The second thing he noticed was that this wasn’t the Fungal Wastes anymore.

The bed he lay on was too soft. The air was too clean -- _ too _ clean, chemically sterilized with something that smelled like bleach. The bandages around his body were too recent, the sheets were too white, and the lights were _ too bright._

This wasn’t the Fungal Wastes. It wasn’t even Hallownest anymore.

This was a hospital.

Chance gave a stifled groan as he tried to raise an arm to cover his eyes. Squinting, he looked around his hand, half in the shade and half illuminated; snow-white bandages across his palm and over his fingers, trailing all the way up his arm.

His right arm was beat up, but a lazy glance over made him worry for his _ left _ arm; completely buried under a heavy cast and hung in the air by a sling. He was completely numb; his arm could’ve been there just as easily as it could not. Though, on the other hand, the fact that there was a cast at all was promising for his recovery.

His right arm -- his _ good _ arm --- was occupied by a needle from an IV bag, also just as numb as his left. Actually, his whole body was numb, head to toe. All he could feel was this dull, throbbing _ ache _ all over.

He let his arm fall over him and his hand to slide down his face, trying to wake him up better. He reached back into his mind, trying to remember how he got here.

Something about… a car. A rainy, shrouded night. A red light. He slammed on the brakes, and…

...So was that it?

Was everything that had happened to him just his head getting banged too hard in a car crash? Was Hallownest -- the Infection, the False Knight, Hornet, the Mantis Lords, Tusk--

Was it all nothing but a dream?

...He chuckled. It really _ had _ felt real. But if it wasn’t this whole time… well, that was _ one _ way to cure the Infection. The Infection that never existed. As for Tusk… they would be just fine in non-existence, he decided. He was free. He could kick back, let himself heal, let all his memories slowly trickle back in over time. He didn’t know how long it’d take, but he figured it wouldn’t be long. When he was out of here, maybe he could write a book about the crazy dream he’d had in a hospital bed. From the safety of a writing desk, with the terrors of Hallownest safely and firmly separated by a thin sheet of paper. 

Maybe it’d be fun.

It wasn’t his problem anymore.

Just as he closed his eyes with the comfort of this thought, he heard the tapping of shoes approaching him. And from behind the curtain, a nurse stepped into view.

Chance couldn’t help but squint at the sight of her. He wasn’t a doctor, but he was pretty sure nurses weren’t allowed to wear high heels on the job. And didn’t nurses usually wear blue these days? What was with the red and white getup?

...Yeah, no, what was with the getup in general? He couldn’t see her eyes past her shimmering silver hair, adorned with a white cap displaying a red cross, but he could see her soft golden lipstick curled up in a sly smile. Her suit -- if you could call it that -- was nearly skin-tight, latex-like and shined under the blinding hospital lights, and covered far less skin than was probably appropriate. He was reasonably certain nurses weren’t allowed to show that much cleavage while working, and that skirt looked almost _ criminally _short. Were thigh-highs ever a part of a nurse’s uniform?

With a sigh, Chance let his head fall back into his pillow, feeling a blush bloom across his cheeks. He didn’t care. He was tired and he didn’t care. She could be wearing nothing at all, as long as he still got himself fixed up and out of here soon enough.

The nurse turned her back to him -- he _ really _ shouldn’t be looking -- and fiddled with some tools on a table. She gave a soft, breathy sigh, and Chance finally couldn’t help but steal a glance as she opened a drawer and pulled out a small scalpel.

Turning on her heel, and with a precision that took lifetimes to master, she held the scalpel between her fingers and flung it straight at Chance’s throat.

Chance reflexively flung himself to the right, and the thrown scalpel embedded itself into the pillow, only managing to nick the side of his neck. He yelped as the sling holding his cast in place snapped, and the flimsy rollaway hospital bed he was laying on fell on its side, taking him down to the floor in a mess of thin blankets. The IV bag stand fell down with him as well, hitting the floor in a noisy clatter. Chance gave a pained groan as he hit the solid floor, still beaten and bruised from whatever put him in this hospital to begin with.

“YOU ** _IDIOT!"_** the nurse shrieked, storming over to where he collapsed on the ground. With a panicked breath, and _ oh god he definitely was not tired anymore,_ Chance scrambled back as much as his battered limbs would allow him. On instinct, he grabbed ahold of the fallen IV pole, and although he could only effectively use one arm, he held it up as a weapon as best as he could.

The nurse grabbed onto the other end with an iron grip. _ “I set,” _ she seethed, _**"**_**_EVERYTHING_ ** _ UP FOR YOU!”_ With a flick of her wrist, she bent the metal IV pole all the way down the middle like it was a twig. She flung her arm outward, and the pole was ripped out of Chance’s grip and thrown halfway across the room, crashing into another table of medical supplies and smashing everything in its way.

Chance could barely breathe as she stood above him, she was _ on _ him, he could feel the gravity of her fury pressing down on his chest like a boulder, staring up in terror, unable to tear himself away from her brilliant orange eyes, and he was _ trapped-- _

_ “And YOU went and…” _ She trailed off. Her anger wavered and her face shuddered, her eyes starting to grow wet as she stared down at him. _ “And you…” _

With a cry, she collapsed into him, her body wracked with muffled sobs into his shoulder. Chance stared at the stranger like she was an alien; she’d just tried to kill him, and now she was holding him like a giant teddy bear on the floor, using him to comfort herself from whatever unknowable grief she was suffering.

Without having the foggiest clue of what to do or think, he hesitantly brought up his good arm over her back, and tried to wrap her in a reluctant embrace. Feeling his warmth, the nurse huffed, then huffed again; her body shaking not with sobs, but with gentle, somehow bitter laughter.

“Y-you, haah--” the nurse mumbled, “You… don’t even _ know _ what’s going on… do you? No… you don’t even remember.”

And then she fucking _ licked _ him.

Chance’s whole body seized up as her tongue danced over the wound on his neck -- that _ she herself _ made -- lapping up his blood like it was water in a desert. His blush returned in full force as he realized that she had been straddling him this whole time; him, wearing little more than a hospital gown, and her wearing little more than… nothing. He didn’t like this.

_ “I had this all set up for you,” _ her voice took a deep, sultry tone, and in the back of his mind, he was starting to think this woman didn’t have an actual medical license. _ “When you were done, I’d be here for you, and we’d have allllll niiiiiiight, just to ourselves~” _Her breath flared up against his neck, and he felt like he was on fire.

_ “All night, for me to… _ tend _ to your _ wounds_, dearest~” _

...Alright, look. He was a guy. Sometimes, he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like he had any control over this situation to begin with. All he could do was try to make himself as small as possible, and pray that nobody else would stumble in here and see them like this.

A soft, petrifying laugh. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about anyone else walking in on us, love. Unless you’d _ like _ that…?”

...Oh no.

She sat up, sitting on his waist properly now, and let Chance get a good, long look at her face. Her flowing, silver hair; her shimmering golden lips; her clear skin, smooth as porcelain. and her brilliant _ tangerine _ eyes, somehow brighter than the light behind it, casting her shadow down onto him, and in that moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of _ inhumanity _ from the woman sitting in his lap.

“It just occurred to me… We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?” In a flash of sunlight, two grand wings flared into existence from her back; wings made of soft fluff, tendrils trailing behind her like some eldritch monster. Her nurse’s cap was replaced by a three-pronged silver crown, and the rest of her outfit was replaced with some kind of armor (though, no less skimpy than the last getup).

**“I am the Radiance,”** her voice projected directly into his mind. **“I am the Goddess of Light and Dreams, the Breaking Dawn, the Mother of Moths, the harbinger of the Light Plague.”**

She lay a finger -- a soft, fluffy finger -- on his lips, and her silhouette gave him a small smile. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, love. <3”

* * *

“I’m sorry. I’m-” She gave another light chuckle. “It’s just… I’ve been waiting for _ so long, _to hold you close like this~”

She -- the “Radiance” -- lay back down, using his body as a giant pillow, softly humming into his chest as she moooO_oookkkaayyy,_ _don’t look down don’t look down don’t loo_wwhyYyy was she pressing _into_ his waist please don’t move down please don’t move down please don’t move down-

Yeah, okay. Fine. It was _ “””hot”””. _ Sure. Whatever. It didn’t make him want to get the hell out of here any less. Nothing about this made him comfortable. She tried to _ stab _ him, dammit.

“Aah, you’re so _ good _ to me…” she whispered, eyes closed as she held him. At some point, the floor had turned into a soft bed, and all the clutter around him had vanished, leaving them in an endless white room where every surface felt like a cloud. It reminded him of a mental asylum.

_ “Sooo goooood… _ That’s your _ flaw,_ Chance, you’re too damn _ nice _ to people…”

For the first time since he’d nearly been stabbed, Chance licked his dry lips and shakily said, “W-What do you mean?”

“...Ah. No, you don’t remember, do you?” She hummed to herself. “I can’t blame you for hoping it was all a dream. But I’m afraid to say, _ Chance, _ that _ this _ is the dream. _ You’re _ still half-dead in the Wastes.”

Chance’s eyes widened with horror. “W-Wait--”

“Mhmm. There was never any so-called _ ‘car crash’._ You fought the Mantis Lords and lost.” Before Chance could speak she hushed him again, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. “But you _ lived._ You lived because _ of course you did. _”

Chance could only stare.

“That was my whole plan, you see? It was an _ experiment. _ I wanted to see how you would react in the face of a terrible fate. If you tried to escape, and gave into my influence completely, like a weathered pebble in the unstoppable flow of a river, then you would have lost. 

But you didn’t. You kept fighting, stayed strong, and at the end of it all I would bring you here and we would…” she trailed off. “Well. I think you can guess.”

Chance stared, gulped, and suddenly sat up.

“Wait, so it _ WAS _ a test! There was a losing condition!”

The Radiance blinked in surprise, before huffing, turning her gaze away from his. “Irrelevant.”

“I nearly DIED-!”

“But you _ didn’t,” _ she stated firmly, in a voice that left no room for argument. Seeing his startled expression, she softened up. “Though, I would have preferred if you tried a bit _ harder _ to preserve yourself…”

Chance furrowed his brow. “Meaning…?”

“Well… Oh, damn it all, I’d be better off just _ showing _ you.”

Her hands -- No, her _ paws _ \-- grabbed either side of his face, and she pulled him into a searing kiss, burning away his fear, burning away his pain, burning away his sight, burning away the whole world, burning away his mind, burning away--

…

…

* * *

...

…

Burning away _ him. _

Chance fell on his back, body convulsing, blinking back the tears just long enough to glance over his left shoulder to see the burn, to see his numb and bloodied arm.

His arm, six feet away from his body.

The crowd around him, who cheered uproariously at his defeat, had quieted down and watched in a silent awe as he bled out on the stones.

Six feet away, his severed arm twitched, warped, and like an ejected CD, the Mantis Claw slid itself free from its dying flesh. Rosanna bent down to pick it up gingerly, regarding the bloodied metal like dirty laundry that needed to be deep-cleaned before she could even stand to look at it again.

“What has been stolen…” she spoke, projecting her voice to the crowd that had gathered around the arena, “...has been returned.”

Chance glanced up and his tired, tangerine eyes gave one final gaze into the blinding headlights of the inky black ghost that was once Tusk.

Cecelia stepped closer. “To think he’d spend his final moments begging for mercy, not for his own sake, but for a Vessel’s…”

_ ...A Vessel’s?,_ Chance thought silently, his mind growing numb. What’s a Vessel? Was he begging for mercy? Were these his final moments? Was he begging for someone else?

No… why should he be begging? He could do it himself.

He _ would _ do it himself.

He already _ has _ done it himself.

Raising his remaining arm up to the ghost that remained of Tusk, he felt the cold wisps dance between his fingers, and for a moment, he felt something that wasn’t blind pain or empty numbness.

He only had enough Soul to heal one of them.

The two cracked halves of Tusk’s mask rattled, which didn’t go unnoticed by the Mantises, least of all their Lords. Rosanna made a move with her spear, but Oasis silently raised a hand to her, letting events unfold as they would.

As though pulled together by some ghostly force, the mask halves flew upwards and met the inky ghost that hovered over him. The ghost pulled itself inwards,curled up into a tight little ball of darkness, and let the porcelain mask encase them, the deep cracks running up and down Tusk’s face slowly shrinking, mending itself back together again.

And with a quiet _ Pop!,_ Tusk reemerged into existence again, falling into Chance’s coat with a flop. They were still injured, but they were _ alive,_ in _ one piece._

Chance gave a small smile, and let his arm flop to his side, letting the darkness take him.

The arena was silent as Tusk pulled themself up, sitting on Chance’s stomach, staring at his unmoving face. Waiting, waiting for him to wake up and heal himself too. Tentatively, they reached out and poked his bloodied cheek with their finger. Then they gave him a firmer jab.

And soon, they had grabbed onto his hair, tugging, desperately trying to _ wake him up. _ Inky black tears welled up from their eyes and rolled down their mask, catching onto the cracks in between like a river flowing into a valley. Shaking uncontrollably, they grabbed the neck of his shirt and hit his head on the ground.

Why was he still asleep? Didn’t he know sleep was a bad thing? Why didn’t he just heal himself like he always had?

Cecelia watched in some unreadable awe. “He… gave his own life… for a _ Vessel…?” _

Everyone in the arena nearly jumped out of their own chitin when Oasis slammed her spear at the foot of her throne, like the shot of a gun echoing through the throne room, demanding the attention of all present.

“I’ve seen enough! Move these two up to our medical wing, now!”

Rosanna took a firm step forward. “Sister, we cannot just heal a _ villain _ to our Tribe-!”

_ “I don’t CARE!”, _ she roared, slamming her spear down again as she stood from her throne. She waved her spear once in the air. _ “CALL FOR THE HEALERS, IMMEDIATELY!” _

And with a third and final bang of her spear, like a judge’s gavel, the spikes were covered and the gates rose.

The crowd ran in all directions, nobody sure where to go or what to do, everyone trying to catch a glimpse of the _ human! _ who had robbed them and soiled their honor, only to be smited by their beloved Lords. A group of Mantises in primitive medical gear crowded around Chance’s body, gingerly lifting him up, not even bothering to move Tusk off of his body and letting them ride on Chance, with ink-black tears still rolling down their face and dripping down, staining Chance’s shirt a deep black.

Glancing down at the bloody Mantis Claw in her hands, Rosanna gave a frustrated huff and tossed it to the ground, barking orders at the crowd to keep them under control.

Guards surrounded the doctors on all sides, unwilling to let a rogue Mantis jump in and finish the job the Lords left for them. One of the Mantis doctors pushed through their tight barrier from within and sprinted back into the arena, before carefully collecting Chance’s severed arm from the ground, and running back to the main group.

_ “For limb replantation,” _ she had breathed, only just realizing that she had left herself open to attack from any proud Mantis who didn’t want to let the _ human!!! _ get away with his life. _ “If we reattach it quickly enough, he has a chance to recover.” _

_ “Chance… didn’t he say that was his name?” _

_ “So the human’s name is Chance, hm?” _

_ “Chance…” _

Already, whispers and rumors began to spread through the crowd, something not even the Lords could control. They whispered among themselves, that the human was a renowned criminal wanted in kingdoms over, that he was descended from the legendary thief-hero they heard about in their children’s stories, that he was here to steal a cure to the Infection…

And as the crowd split apart, some dispersing back to their daily routine, some still eagerly following the healers from a safe distance, a lone Mantis walked into the arena.

Lightfoot reached down and picked up the Mantis claw, feeling the cool metal and the hot blood pooling around it, and held it in his claws, glancing over at where Chance’s convoy had left, lost in his thoughts.

…

…

* * *

...

…

He didn’t suddenly wake back up. 

Er, fall back asleep? 

He eventually was back in his dreams, but he didn’t just open his eyes and find himself there. He ebbed and flowed between reality and dreams, never fully conscious of either existence, rising and falling steadily like the waves on a beach, before he could finally reach high enough to grab hold and pull himself firmly onto one side.

This… “Radiance” woman was still here. She’d taken the time to redecorate a bit.

No longer were they in a hospital setting. They were in some kind of royal bedchamber, grand and lavish; Everything was either made of gold, or _ shined _ like it. Beautiful tapestries with colors he’d never seen before hung from every wall. Intricate wool carpets rolled over a floor so well-polished you could use it as a mirror. Marble pillars rising beyond a ceiling made of clouds. The bed felt like a cloud, too, with dreamcatchers hanging from its awning over him.

All these luxuries that the richest of the rich could only hope to afford, and the Radiance had decided that _ he _ was the comfiest thing in the room.

She laid against his right side, snuggled against him. Yet again, he felt like a teddy bear. Her arms wrapped around his, her silvery wings covering him like a blanket. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful.

Did… did she fall asleep with him?

Glancing over to his left, he froze. Where his arm once was in a cast, he now had a prosthetic made of solid gold, with mesmerizing engravings of flowers and dreamcatchers etched into its surface. It nearly perfectly resembled a human hand, with the metallic surface bending as he willed it to move. He should’ve been terrified at the thought of having lost his arm, terrified of _ all of this, _ but… something about this construct put him at ease. He was too lost in its glimmer to feel fear or panic.

Silvery, soft paws reached out from behind him and grasped his new prosthetic hand, locking fingers with it, with _ him. _ Chance spun around to see the Radiance pressed warmly into his back, a gentle, comforting smile on her features.

“It’s only for now,” she said. “When you wake up, you’ll have your old arm back. There’s no need to worry.”

He stared into her eyes for a moment -- solid orange, almost hypnotic -- and decided that yes, he wouldn’t worry about it. He was already worried about too much as it was. Letting his head hit the pillow, he sighed.

“So…”

“So.”

His breathing was uneven as he tried to find the right words. The Radiance laid a paw on his shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly, silently telling him that she could be patient, that he could take his time. He still didn’t feel comfortable in her presence, but at this point he didn’t care. He was just so _ tired. _

Finally, he said, “What… was the point of that? What happened?”

“Easy. You saved a Vessel when you could have saved yourself instead, and now you’re paying the price for your kindness.”

Her blunt answer caught him off guard, and he blinked for a moment before she continued.

“That was… why I was upset earlier. This experiment -- _ test,” _ she caught herself after noticing his flat expression, “this _ test _ was meant to be a judge of your will. When you _ knew _ calamity was approaching, that you’d be... beaten within an inch of your life soon, would you try to escape it? Or face it head on?

“I _ offered _ you escape. Multiple times. I warned you of what was to come, and you kept marching onwards anyway. I was… so _ proud _ of you, when you challenged the Lords without caving to my offers.”

(Chance decided not to mention the fact that _ he _ wasn’t the one who challenged them.)

“Your will was strong, and you did not collapse so easily under the pressure of fate. I had prepared everything; your last-minute comeback, your survival, your… _ reward. _” She bit her golden lips, pressing her body into his just a little bit more.

(I don’t _ want _ your reward. I want to go home.)

“But then you did something I couldn’t have predicted. You threw away your own life, discarded your will to survive, the will that I had just put through one of the most trying tests I could. You threw it all away for the sake of a Vessel, a Vessel you had come to _ care _ for.”

(Chance _ also _ decided now would be a bad time to ask what the hell a Vessel was supposed to be.)

“Your will to resist the flow of fate was strong, for _ yourself. _ But when someone else doesn’t have that same strength of heart, self-preservation is the _ last _ thing on your mind. A will to survive becomes a will to _ save. _

“At first, I was _ furious._ All this, and you gave it all up in the final stretch? But then I realized something important. You didn’t _ fail _ my test; you split the difference in a way that challenged _ me, _ challenged my understanding of what it means to have a _ “strong will.”” _

She shifted. She no longer hugged his side, but she was straddling him again, staring down at him, _ into _ him, with a _ hunger _ that paralyzed him. Her paws pressed down into his shoulders, trapping him under her, _ trapped-- _

“And finally, I realized the most important thing of all: **You’re just like me.** You would eradicate every obstacle in your path, destroy every foe under your heel, if you only had the _ strength _ to do so. But not for your own sake. You’d undo the seams of the whole world, just to sew a new one where everyone you care for could be happy, even if you _ suffered _ for it.

“I made that same decision, too, once. For my tribe. I may have been forgotten, may have been betrayed, but my goals remained the same. If I could pull everyone into my “world”, a world where I reign supreme, I could hand-craft happiness for everyone. World peace. Love. Every last bug, clothed, sheltered and fed. Nobody would be alone ever again. All the desires of the world brought together and weaved into a single, grand tapestry. The _ ultimate _ dream.”

**“And if I had to ** ** _drag_ ** ** every last bug there, kicking and screaming all the way, then by the Gods I’d do it in a heartbeat.”**

She leaned down, deep. Her face was so close, _ so close _ and it _ terrified _ him. Her wings flared out behind her, and She was all there was. The Sun in a void, a perfect singularity. And to Her, _ he _ was everything.

“Isn’t that what _ you _ want, _ Chance? _ Just to make everyone _ happy? _ Come with me, and we shall craft our perfect dream, together. **With you by my side, as my King of Dreams, and as my mate.”**

...If this was a dream, now would be a _ great _ time to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Oasis (Artist)  
Cecelia by Simon & Garfunkel  
Rosanna by TOTO
> 
> Voice #1 is Cecelia (Rightmost Lord in-game), Voice #2 is Rosanna (Leftmost Lord), Voice #3 is Oasis (Center Lord).
> 
> Holy shit. I did NOT expect this to become our longest chapter yet, but here we are. In fact, this chapter is so long, it's made us reach 100,000 words. It's kind of insane to think about how far we've come since we started this fic a little over a year ago (as of January 4th), and we're only just getting started. Thank you for all your support so far, and we hope to see your continued support as this story continues!
> 
> I'm still trying to decide if I want to change Tusk's name back to Ghost or not. again, I *could* do it and it wouldn't hurt or impact the story or any way, I just don't know if I *want* to. I'll have to decide sooner rather than later, so maybe in the next chapter or so I'll come to a conclusion.
> 
> this is kind of a dumb thought, but I was thinking of more ways to connect with the community more? I mean, neither Piston nor I have a tumblr account or anything. We communicate mostly through Discord tho, so if anyone was interested, we could make, like, an ethnoentomology discord server or something. just a small, niche thing. unless there's some kind of secret "Hollow Knight Fanfiction server" i don't know about. or would just a tumblr be better? idk.
> 
> Speaking of, sorry for not responding to many comments last chapter. my dumbass was worried i'd spoil something. i'll try to reply to more this time!
> 
> Next chapter'll prolly be much shorter; just a wrap-up of Fungal Wastes before we move on to the City of Tears (ooh!). Also, maybe a new Midnight Rider chapter soon-ish?
> 
> Again, thank you for your tremendous support, and we'll see you next chapter! :)


	18. Don't Let It Bring You Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dead man lying by the side of the road, with the daylight in his eyes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you didn't see in the last chapter of Midnight Rider, we now have a Discord server! invite link is at the end of this chapter :)
> 
> CW: some (continued) disturbing imagery about dismemberment

_ ...Oh-- _

Huhuhuhuhu. No, I’m afraid our time is up, love.

_ This _ will have to wait for later.

Mayhaps we would have had more time had we…

...No, this discussion was important. I’m glad we were able to talk.

I hope to see you again soon, love~

* * *

Somehow, people were _ still _ screaming when he woke up.

Something told him he was still in the Wastes. He tried to open his eyes, only to be momentarily blinded by a lumafly lantern cast over his face. The shadow of a face obscured the light from view, saying words that only reached him as a droning warble.

The _ next _ thing he felt was the pain in his arm. 

Fun fact: Mantis medics don’t use anesthetic.

Chance wanted to _ cry. _ Sleep did nothing to ease the _ burning _ agony in his arm; even through the blinding pain, he could still feel the sloppy, rushed stitches keeping his arm on, all wrapped up in some kind of primitive gauze. Even if they were re-attached on the outside, the inside was still cut open, and all he could feel below his mid-upper-arm was phantom pains and the slickness of blood. Like cutting a loaf of bread in half, and trying to put it back together with scotch tape so it didn’t get stale.

Tears were welling up in his eyes before he’d even fully opened them. Trying to squeeze them out, he gave a weary look around the room, vision blurred.

_ “wht d y mn, hs lrdy wkng p?!” _

The voices were muddled, but there _ were _ voices, several of them. Mantises, it looked like; he was lying on his back on a bed, in a moderately large room, surrounded by Mantises that seemed to be panicking over something. More stood outside the door, next to which a large, oak-green cloak was hung up on a hanger.

_ “...llow me. No telling… how... will respond.” _

With a deep, shaky breath, Chance opened his eyes fully. Mantis medics, some covered in splotches of (his) red blood, stood around nervously. A much taller one approached him -- _ Rosanna, _ he could feel the Mantis Lord’s name whispered into his mind. She stood by the bedside, leaning over him to get a good look at his beaten, bloody, _ defeated _ expression.

“Good morning, _ Trickster,” _ she spat.

He immediately tried to punch her in the face.

He didn’t hit her very _ hard _, of course; he still felt like a rung-out wet rag. But, he managed to catch her off-guard, his sloppily-thrown fist colliding with her lower jaw. Rosanna only flinched from the impact, more startled by him having done anything at all than from the actual blow itself. Chance, on the other hand, seethed in thinly-veiled agony from jostling himself around too much, and his fist quickly flew to his injured arm.

Mantis medics tried to step forward to ease the situation. Rosanna wasn’t one to be held back, however, and raised an arm threateningly, “You _ ungrateful-!” _

She froze. Chance’s hand was curled around his severed arm, faint pale wisps floating through his fingers. He could feel the stitches unravel themselves as his skin and flesh patched itself together, the strings being forced outward and falling to the floor in a lump with his bandages. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking as he gave a weak flex with his uninjured left arm, whole again.

Rosanna eyed him up and down, her dark irises meeting his tangerine ones. A long, tense moment passed between the two of them. Finally, she scoffed, lowering her arm as she glanced away. “Tch. That _ is _ how you gather Soul, I suppose.”

(She didn’t realize that he gained back Soul in his sleep, and he was already full. He decided not to tell her this.)

She waved at all the other Mantises. “Clear out. No use standing around any longer, he will patch himself up on his own.” Slowly, one by one, the crowd of Mantises filtered out of the room, casting nervous glances to the still awfully beaten-up _ human!!! _ laying in the bed behind them, who only stared on, rubbing his arm anxiously.

(_ it burned. It burned. It burned it burned it burned it burned it burned-- _)

Rosanna turned to look at him as she stepped through the doorway, a flat glare on her face. “I do hope your manners will return to you by the time you leave _ my _ bed.”

Her words -- and their implications -- hit Chance like a splash of hot coffee to the face. He startled, pulling up the covers closer to him, trying to curl himself up into a ball and hide forever. Rosanna had thankfully already left the room, and didn’t see his flustered face. The door to the bedroom, a _ Mantis Lord’s bedroom, _ closed itself, and Chance let himself collapse into the pillows in exhaustion.

...Where was Tusk? Were they already? What about Rio and Jeremy? He knew he needed to find them, figure out where to go from here, but… He could barely move. He felt like sleeping for the next decade and then some. He felt so _ numb. _

(_ itburneditburneditburneditburneditburneditburned-- _)

...He didn’t even notice the cloak hangar falling over until it hit the ground with a thud.

Chance jumped, his nerves alight. He froze, staring at the shifting mass of cloth on the floor. Slowly, pulling the covers away from him, he crept over to where the green cloak lay on the ground. The cloak shuffled and groaned, with distinct _ voices _ coming from it.

“Ugh-- Get _ off of me, _ you lazy _ oaf!” _

“Y-Y-_ You’re _ on top of _ me!” _

Chance frowned. He knew who those voices belonged to by now. Grabbing the edge of the cloak, he pulled it up to reveal a prone Rio, huddling on top of Jeremy, who was… still wearing a second cloak, underneath the one they were already hiding under.

Rio looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “Ah, Chance! Good to see you’re still alive! Where is the little one?”, she asked as he tried to pull her up (mindful of her sharp arms). As she clambered up, she shoved Jeremy’s head into the floor, stunning him briefly. _ (“Unf-!”) _

“Tusk? I… don’t know. They were with me, but I... fell unconscious…”

Rio laughed with some bitter amusement as she stepped over Jeremy’s dizzied form. “Unconscious? You had your arm _ lobbed off! _ After dueling the _ Lords of the Mantis Tribe, _ you should be thankful to still be _ breathing!” _ She walked past him, stretching out after having been in that cramped corner for… how long was she back there with Jeremy, anyway?

While Rio’s back was turned, Chance took the opportunity to help Jeremy up, glancing down at his weary form--

...Something caught his eye. Chance froze.

A hand, but not a human hand. Peeking out from underneath Jeremy’s sleeve, a single thin paw(?), covered in a light, white fur and a thicker, cream-colored mane by the wrists. Neither human, nor the black chitin he was used to seeing by now.

Something flashed over his eyes. Chance felt dizzy. He staggered backwards, running a hand over his head as he sat back down on the edge of the bed. Rio heard it creak under his weight, and looked back to see him clutching at his forehead, Jeremy having managed to stand up on his own by now. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” Chance lied, “I just… I just had this… _ crazy _ dream.”

“Oh!”, Jeremy exclaimed, his disguise up again. “I heard dreams can be an important reflection of your mental state! What was yours?”

Chance laughed, an airy and humorless laugh. “I dunno. I can’t… I can’t remember a thing.”

* * *

His bruises still stung, but he’d managed to patch up the worst of his injuries. Now, looking like he’d only gotten mugged instead of butchered, Chance took a deep, slow breath, pressing his hands against the door to Rosanna’s bedroom, and with a heave, pushed it open.

It was… surprisingly cleared out. A handful of medics, but the only thing that caught his eye was one of the Mantis Lords leaning up against the opposite wall, waiting for him to step out. _ Cecelia, _ not Rosanna this time. She glanced up when she noticed him, pushing herself off the wall to approach.

“Trickster…” She froze, looking off to the side, struggling to find the right words. Not just for him, but for _ her _ as well; the words that would be best for him to hear, weren’t necessarily the best for her to say, as a Lord with a reputation to uphold. “Have you… recovered sufficiently?”

Chance blinked, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “I’m… fine, yeah. Er…” 

He wasn’t sure where to go from here. A part of him, honestly, had expected to die in that arena. But despite everything, he’d stumbled past, but now he only felt somehow lost. He… supposed he was at the Mantises’ mercy now? He was surprised they hadn’t just killed him in his sleep, and he wasn’t sure yet if he should be grateful for that.

“Well… Perhaps now is not the time for…” She trailed off, and her awkward, sideways glance turned into a glare. “Is… is that you, Rio? What do you think you are doing?”

The green bundle of cloak behind him, with Jeremy still hiding underneath it, crossed its arms as Rio huffed. “Only ensuring my _ friend _ here is okay,” she said, throwing an arm around Chance’s shoulders. “Her” feet stumbled from the sudden movement, threatening to give out. “After all,” she continued, “us _ Infecteds _ have to look out for each other, do we not? Gods know nobody else will.”

Cecelia only stared at her, expression unreadable. She opened her mouth to retort, but couldn’t think of the right words. “Well… perhaps I should be escorting you out of the Village now, Trickster.” Her brow furrowed just the slightest bit at his title; she probably wasn’t comfortable using it for some reason. “It may be obvious, but you have been henceforth banished from all territories belonging to the Mantis Tribe. It is only my duty to lead you to our borders.”

Something in Chance’s chest fell at her words, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. It was the least they could’ve done to him. “I… understand,” he forced out. “...Lead the way.”

Cecelia only nodded, motioning for him to follow her out of the Village. Rio stumbled around, hissing something at Jeremy, who quickly moved to tag along with Chance and the Mantis Lord.

* * *

...

“...No, not you, Rio. You’re not exiled yet.”

“Oh.”

...

* * *

“So that’s it, then.”

Chance stood just beyond the Village’s boundaries, standing right on the line he could never cross again. Eyes to his feet, he shuffled uncomfortably. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to look Cecilia in the eye, couldn’t look Rio in the eye. Her cloaked form, with Jeremy still hiding underneath, stood close to him, as though she were exiling herself along with him. He didn’t know why she would. He’d failed.

“...For… what it is worth,” Cecilia started slowly. Something told him that the Mantis Lord was looking around for any eavesdroppers before speaking. She seemed concerned for her reputation like that. “I am sorry. Sorry that we could not help you. Sorry, that you had to suffer so.”

Chance only had the energy to shrug. “‘s fine,” he mumbled.

...His brow furrowed as he suddenly felt… _ frustrated. _ What’d he come here for, anyway? What was he trying to accomplish? A cure? What made him think there’d be anything helpful down here? What makes him think there’s _ anything _ helpful, _ anywhere _ underground in this damn kingdom?

He just wanted to rest. He just wanted to go back up to Dirtmouth, crawl into bed and fall asleep. He was tired. He just wanted to sleep in _ his _ bed, back _ home _ , his _ real _ home. Not Hallownest, but wherever he was before this. He just wanted to be okay. He was tired. It was so tempting to let his knees buckle and collapse into the dirt. He was tired.

It was so tempting.

“Well…” Cecilia said hesitantly, “...Perhaps I ought to take my leave--”

Something _ sick _ surged through Chance’s body, rising up his chest and through his throat. He doubled over, collapsing to his knees as he coughed uncontrollably. He was vaguely aware of Rio and Cecilia startling, before the former reached out to try and pat his back assuringly.

His throat burning, Chance finally stopped coughing, pulling away to see vibrant, orange specks covering his hand. “F-_ Fuck, it’s getting worse--” _ he tried to force out before he coughed again. Cecilia took several steps back to prevent any Infection from reaching her. With heavy breaths, Chance stood on shaky knees, struggling to see through his watery eyes.

“I-- Chance?” A new, but familiar voice tried to speak up from behind him. “Chance, are you alright?”

He turned around slowly, leaning somewhat on Rio for support. “Q...Quirrel?” And…

Tusk was curled up, a small bundle in Quirrel’s arms, their face buried in his chest. Quirrel took two steps closer, and one step back; eyeing the Mantises nervously, he decided the safest distance was right where he was. Chance sighed with exhausted relief as he staggered over to where Quirrel stood, and gently took Tusk into his own arms.

“T-Tusk…” He felt himself seize up. Tusk, stoic and unchanging Tusk, was _ crying. _Inky black tears ran down their pale mask, leaving dark stains behind on their face and on Chance’s shirt as he pulled them into a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry,” he begs. He isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. “I’m sorry.” It was such an easy thing to say, sometimes.

Cecilia looked away, her body strangely tense. “I… I should take my leave,” she says all too quickly, and then she’s gone, two steps away and she vanished into the wind. Rio only blinked at the spot where the Mantis Lord once stood, before she looked back over to Chance and Quirrel.

“Perhaps some introductions are due?”

* * *

“S-So, you… You _ really _ went and--”

“Mhmm.”

Quirrel ran a chitinous hand over his forehead, struggling to grasp the story laid before him. His good traveling friends, Chance and Tusk, had met up with this Infected Mantis woman and all decided to take on the great _ Mantis Lords _ \-- And they did it all on a _ whim. _

“I don’t think I really understand it all myself just yet, but… I guess I’m not going back in there anytime soon,” Chance glanced back over to the Village. They hadn’t set up camp far from the border, only about a dozen or so paces. An outsider might’ve thought they were just trying to be petty to the Lords who had exiled them. Chance was just tired.

He sighed, looking back down at the small bug -- _ Vessel? _ \-- in his embrace. Their crying had slowed to a halt, and their uncontrollable shivering had subsided, now resting peacefully in his embrace. Tusk’s mask never changed, but despite their wide-open eyes, Chance thought they might’ve been asleep. It made sense; after such a rough battle, the crying must’ve tuckered them out. He figured he’d let them sleep a little while longer.

_ ...Were they crying… over him? _

“Oh, _ please,” _ Rio scoffed at some point, pulling his attention back to the conversation after he’d zoned out. “Let not this one failure ruin you. You’ll need to be in top form, if you wish to return for a rematch with the Lords.”

_ That _ caught his attention. “R-Return? Rio, I just got _ outlawed,” _ Chance protested. Rio only chuckled -- _ clucked, _ in a way only a mother would.

“For now, yes. But you do have _ one _ opportunity to set foot back within our lands without having your blood spilt; the Sunset Festival.” She said it with such finality, like it was some grand revelation to blow the minds of those to witness her infinite wisdom, but Quirrel and Chance only blinked in confusion.

“The _ what?” _

Rio caught her breath for a moment before scoffing. “Of course you would not be aware. It is a Mantis tradition, not widely celebrated outside of our lands. It has its own long and rich history and whatnot, but the point is; during the Sunset Festival, you’d be allowed to come and go freely from the Village.”

Chance sputtered at the absurdity of it. “W-What, even though they kicked me out?!”

“I know! It seems like a security issue to me, but it’s something about ‘wanting to make amends with old enemies.’ Or something along those lines, anyway.” Rio shifted to sit on the ground more comfortably. “The important thing is your window. The festival will begin in but a few days, and it will _ last _ but a few days. You won’t have much time to prepare.”

Chance felt his gut lurch at the challenge presented before him. “H-H-How the hell am I s’pposed to gear up that much in that little time?!”

“Well, you _ could _ wait for the next Festival,” Rio shrugged, “But something tells me neither of us are going to last that long.”

<strike> (dawnshallbreak) </strike>

She turned to Quirrel, making the pillbug jump under her tangerine gaze for a moment. “So, to reiterate: do you know of any way these two could strengthen up before their rematch?”

Quirrel thought for a moment, humming to himself all the while. Chance suddenly felt self-conscious about how they’d been excluding him from the conversation thus far. 

“Well… I do not know if this advice has any merit, but... “ He spared a glance over to the small Tusk lying on Chance’s chest. “If you plan to challenge-- _ re- _ challenge,” he corrected himself, still grasping at how they fought the Lords and _ survived, _ “To re-challenge the Lords of this tribe, your friend’s blunted nail may prove inadequate.”

“Blunted?” Chance asked. On cue, Tusk rose from his embrace, much calmer now, and pulled out their nail to show to the group. (_ It wasn’t strapped to their back or anything a moment ago, where the hell did they keep that thing-- _) 

Blunted was one way of putting it, the thing had deep cracks running up and down the blade. It was a miracle it hadn’t just shattered yet.

“By the Wyrm, Tusk, when was the last time you’ve visited a blacksmith?” Quirrel asked, surprised at the damage. It was about as sharp as a baseball bat. (Which was fine with him; he was better with those, anyway.)

Rio chuckled. “You fought our Lords with _ that? _ Pfft, no wonder you lost.”

Chance flinched, just for a moment.

(_ maketheburningstopmaketheburningstopmaketheburningstopmaketheburningstopmaketheburningstopmaketheburningstopmaketheburningstop _)

If Quirrel noticed a shift in tone, he didn’t comment on it. “Well, that settles it. Your best bet is to find the Nailsmith residing in the old capital city of Hallownest. It’s not all too far from here, so making it there and back in your time frame should be easy enough.”

The… capital city? Of Hallownest? Something about that idea made Chance feel anxious. Was it just a populous area, or was it a… a _ city _ city? Something like that, hidden deep within the earth of a forgotten kingdom… This whole mess really _ was _ right out of a fantasy book.

“Trickster.”

The whole group jumped, and Chance quickly rose to his feet. None of them had even noticed when a single Mantis had snuck up on them.

“...Lightfoot?” Rio asked, staring at her son with an unreadable expression. “What are you doing here?” Lightfoot only nodded in greeting to her, and barely even glanced at Quirrel, before he stepped forward towards Chance. Holding out his arms, he presented to him…

“...My nail? Oh, my nail!” Chance exclaimed in surprise. “I completely forgot! I dropped this earlier when I…” He trailed off, suddenly unable to look Lightfoot in the eye, remembering their fight that was witnessed by the whole Village.

“Well… T-Thank you,” Chance tried to say, hoping he didn’t sound too… Weak? Undeserving? Ignorant? But as he reached out to take the nail (_ Iselda’s nail, _ you dolt), he felt a sudden jolt in his left hand. A familiar jolt.

Pulling his hand away, he just caught a glimpse of the Mantis Claw before it melted back into his skin.

Everyone was staring at Lightfoot incredulously, most of all Chance, who gazed into his even, black eyes with some kind of confusion akin to horror. “...W-Why?”

“You intend to exploit our sacred traditions in hopes of reversing your exile.” Lightfoot spoke with such a practiced and even tone, he _ had _ to have thought for a long time about what he was doing. Chance cringed under his accusatory words before he spoke again, “We have another tradition. The Mantis Claw is a gift from our Tribe, one only acquired either through a test of strength…”

“...Or… as a gift, from anyone in the Tribe,” Rio finished her son’s sentence for him. “Any Mantis has the right to gift a Mantis Claw to any outsider they deem worthy. ...Lightfoot, why--”

“If I did not answer the first time,” Lightfoot said, “What makes you think I will answer your question the second time?” His tone was undeniably snappy, but there was something… softer, in it as well.

He looked back into Chance’s orange eyes, who realized suddenly how much _ taller _ the Mantis was than him. “I suppose I will answer a question with a question, then. Trickster, why didn’t you die today?”

“Rude,” Quirrel mumbled under his breath. Lightfoot ignored him.

“I ask not a rhetorical question,” he continued, holding Chance’s nail and pushing it into his arms, forcing Chance to grasp for it awkwardly around his chest. “You caught the Infection, you challenged our Lords with little more than a blunted nail and a Claw, and you are an alien creature likely lost from beyond the borders of Hallownest. **You should have died.** Yet you did not. Why?”

Chance could only stare back at him, struggling to breathe. “I… I don’t--”

Lightfoot cut him off as he turned on his heel to return to the Village. “It’s unfair to expect an answer to some questions, Trickster. Think on what I have said, but for both our sakes, please never give me an answer.”

And then he was gone. Chance was left staring at the space he once was, clutching a longnail to his chest and mindlessly flexing the spikes that ebbed and flowed across his hands. For a long time, nobody spoke.

Quirrel, eventually, spoke up. “W-Well, perhaps it is time I take my leave,” he said, standing rather suddenly. “Remember, the Nailsmith in Hallownest’s capital. I would join you, but ah,” he tilted the mask on his head to hide his face, “I have a few other errands to run before then. Perhaps we will meet up again on the way?” he said with a smile.

And then he was gone, too.

Chance struggled to process the whirlwind of thoughts running through his head. He leaned the longnail up against the wall before slowly trying to sit down, holding onto a large mushroom for support. Just as Tusk had crawled into his lap to rest for a little while longer--

_ Achoo! _

Rio suddenly jumped. “What in the--” She fumbled around with her cloak, pulling it off to reveal Jeremy, looking dazed in the ground. _ “Jeremy! _ I’d completely forgotten you were hiding in there! Why didn’t you _ say _ something, you dolt?”

“Suh-Sorry,” Jeremy wheezed, sniffling. Thankfully, it sounded less like he was crying and more like he just had a runny nose. “I jush got so _ cozhy _ in there, I ah, kinda forgot to pipe up…”

“Tch! Chance, take your _ fool _ of a friend away from me before I wind up smacking him!”

* * *

Hallownest’s technological progress still made absolutely no sense, but Chance didn’t really care as much anymore. He just accepted the odd bug magi-tech for what it was; something he would never understand. Just accept it, and move on. He was getting sick of questions.

He barely batted an eye at the collapsed “bridge” before their small group. Two long metal bars extended over an acid lake below, connecting with a distant outcropping of rock. Intricate sheets of metal hung from the bars, like orderly stalactites. It _ might _ ’ _ ve _been possible to balance upon them, similar to a tightrope, but he doubted even Tusk could’ve done so.

Jeremy was crouched, examining the odd contraption. “...Oh! I think I get it!”, he exclaimed suddenly. “So if these two parts fold up, it should make a bridge! But, uh… How do we do that?” He glanced around nervously, as if looking for an easy switch or button to use.

Chance gave Rio a gentle nudge. “You sure this is the way to that City?”

“Positive,” she responded. “The damn Wyrm would never let us forget his so-called ‘Pilgrim’s Way’.”

“Okay-- Okay, what’s this “Wyrm” thing everyone keeps going on about? Is it, like, a god…?” Just after the words left his mouth, he could tell by the look in Rio’s eyes that it was a loaded question, one he probably should’ve saved for a better time.

“Ha, the amusement so many of my kin would find in the Pale Wyrm being referred to as an ‘it’. I forget how you are not a native to these lands.” She sighed before continuing, “The Pale Wyrm was the former king of Hallownest. In many ways, he was, as you say, a god -- a Higher Being, even. But as the Infection grew, he vanished, along with his palace and his throne. For the survivors, all that remains is ruin.”

“...Huh.” Chance mumbled when he noticed she had finished speaking. “He sounds… not great.” _ (“Higher Being”, where had he heard that before, he _ knew _ he had heard it before--) _

“U-Uhm… Hey, Chance?” Jeremy spoke up, and both human and Mantis turned to glance at him attentively. The cloaked figure was still crouched down by the bar, looking very small. “You, uhm… You’re going to look for a cure, right? F-For the Infection.”

“Oh. I…” _ I don’t need to be reminded. _ “...I am. Why?”

“I… I want to go with you!”

Chance recoiled in surprise. “W-What? Why?!” Jeremy was going to get hurt. Jeremy was going to see him get hurt. Jeremy was going to die--

“I-I don’t… W-What was it Lightfoot said about not asking questions?” Seeing Chance’s glare, he quickly changed course, “I-I’m tired of being stuck. I’ve been here in these stupid Wastes for so long, I-I wanna leave. I wanna meet new people cause there’s nobody in the Wastes who wants to talk to me except for the Mantises but they’d all kill me on sight a-and you’ve actually _ listened _ to me for once in my life and--”

“You… just want to see new places?”

“M-Mhmm!” Jeremy nodded fervently. His face was obscured by his hood, but Chance could easily imagine him staring at him with something bordering on puppy-eyes.

Jeremy wanted to go with him on his death march, knowing full well that what happened to Chance earlier today or worse could happen to him, that he could and likely would lose his life on this impossible mission, and he wanted to do it just so he could “see new places.”

“I believe you.”

Just then, the folds of the bridge suddenly jumped up, clearing their way only about halfway-ish across the acid lake. Tusk, who Chance didn’t even notice had left, was standing at the end of what had been constructed so far, standing next to a switch with a proud aura about them. Jeremy glanced wordlessly between Chance and Tusk, before standing up from his crouch and running out to see the latter.

Rio smacked Chance.

_ “Ow-!” _

“You don’t actually _ believe _ his drivel, do you? I’ve not heard a more blatant lie in my life.”

Chance shrugged. “‘course I don’t believe him. But I couldn’t hope to guess his _ real _ reason, so…”

Rio scoffed, looking like she was considering hitting him again. “You’re so _ irresponsible,” _ she chided, “first you challenge our Lords while _ woefully _ underequipped, and then you let such an innocent soul follow you to the core of this world just to die.”

“Wh- Innocent soul?”

“Oh, please, he’s hardly more than a child in how he acts.” She sighed. “It matters not, I suppose. He is _ your _ friend, not mine. And besides, this appears to be as far as I can go; from here on out, you’ll be on your own.” She hummed thoughtfully before adding, “Perhaps another voice will do you good; keep you grounded.”

She paused. Chance fidgeted as the lull in conversation stretched on, trying to focus on the sounds of acid hissing below them, the distant sound of Jeremy cheering on Tusk.

“...I didn’t ask before, but…” Rio turned and looked him in the eyes, straight in the eyes. Tangerine on tangerine. “Are you… alright? Really.”

Chance stared on as the vomit welled up in hIs throat, he couldn’t move to put out the fire oh god his arm was on fire, the sKin turNing tO a deep ash and dripping to the ground like Wax was he a liar please whY god help the blade ran straight thrOUgh his chest, it feLt so coLd between his riBs his hands _ I’m here to help you, please just calm down _ why couldn’t hE move his legs he couldn’t feel his legs he was on fire the flesh of his arm wAs he a liar crumbled and melted away like icing on a cake after the candleS are lefT on too long he took A needle and hacked away at his shouldeR, why wouldn’t It come off why did it hurt what was he here for who was he, where was he why was he _ Please listen to me. It’s going to be okay, just breathe _ why couldN’t he See he cOuldn’t trust his eyes anyMore he couldn’t trust his voice hE couldn’t trust is Body he cOuldn’t trust his arms he coulDn’t trust his legs he couldn’t trust his head he couldn’t trust his heart he couldn’t trust his dreams, was he a liar he was burning he was freezing he was being torn to long bloodY shreds his hEad hurt his heart hurt his eyes hurt, _ You can trust me. Please trust me, _ leave me alone Leave me alone leave me alone pleaSe just lEt me go the needle broke and he hacked away with the claw, pleaSe he was getting close please just come off the bone turned to dust and flew away in an orange sunset wind that smothered and suffocated the world, the midnight SKY was chased away into nothing was he a liar and

Chance nodded. “‘m alright,” he mumbled.

* * *

_ Thump! _

He was _ just _ starting to fall asleep when a bundle of _ something _ fell into Chance’s lap. He, Tusk and Jeremy had all decided to rest for a little while before continuing on; Chance would like to say otherwise, but so far, it was _ him _ who needed the extra sleep, not Jeremy, poor, frail Jeremy.

Who would’ve guessed rest with a decapitated arm didn’t do much for him?

He hoped his jolt of surprise didn’t wake the others, sleeping leaned up against the wall beside him, as he glanced down at what looked like a bundle of… string? Some kind of package, maybe, tossed into his lap. Looking up, he froze when he saw _ her. _

Oh, of _ course _ it was _ her. _

“Perhaps I owe you an apology, human,” Hornet said, her voice a touch less sharp than usual, he figured she was just trying to avoid waking up Tusk and Jeremy, rather than any desire to actually be any easier on him. “Though, you _ did _ hurl your nail at me like a deranged lunatic earlier. Fair’s fair.”

She said nothing more, only nodding towards the bundle of string -- _ silk? _ \-- in Chance’s hands. Hesitantly, he peeled it open, and judging by its rectangular shape he half expected it to be C4 or something--

A familiar, glossy black surface stared back at him, and his breath caught in his throat.

“If I am to apologize, I suppose it would be more fair to do so for _ breaking _ this object than for _ stealing _ it, but…” She huffed. “I do not understand what value it may have had to you, but for what it is worth, I am sorry. It truly was a wondrous thing, while it lasted.”

She was about to leave, but Chance’s… _ distraught _ face convinced her to say just a bit more. “I do not know what happened, exactly. That... _ Light _ seemed to emerge out of it, and my blade--”

“N-No,” Chance cut her off. “It’s… it’s okay. I understand. It was just a matter of time, anyway.”

Hornet paused for a moment, but nodded. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding, despite everything.” Stepping away to leave, she pulled her needle from her back, let her silk wind up, and--

Chance laughed softly. “I mean… I don’t really know what I’m gonna… y’know, _ do _ about it, but... Hallownest’s got magic for like, everything, right? Charging a battery can’t be that hard.”

...Something about his tone, his _ words, _ made Hornet freeze. “A… Battery?”

“Y-Oh, yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know about that, huh?” Chance only laughed again. “This thing, it has a battery inside, it stores energy that it uses to power itself so you can use it, see?” He pulled the phone from the silk bundle that Hornet used to keep all the pieces together--

One.

The device in Chance’s hands had healed itself and become whole again. Not a crack nor scratch to be found in its flawless glass screen.

Irreparable damage, completely undone.

“It was playing music when you, uhm… Y-You probably just didn’t know how to turn it off? And it just kept playing ‘til the battery died. It’s okay, I know someone else who had that same problem when I left it with them, haha.” He smiled as he showed the device to her. “Maybe if I can charge it up again, I can teach you how to use it?”

Hornet turned around and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Don't Let It Bring You Down by Neil Young.
> 
> again, if you didn't see in chapter 3 of MR, i wanna say thank you for 10,000 hits and for the TV Tropes mention!! we also made a discord server, a hyperlink should be in the end story notes but here's the code in plaintext just in case: PYXCv9tUPg


	19. A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world.”

“I don’t like this statue, Jeremy. Its smug aura mocks me.”

Jeremy was probably frowning under his hood. “Whaaat…?” he asked, crossing his arms as he eyed the statue. “I think it looks nice. Like a… protector!”

“Mh-mh. Nope. It has to go.”

Jeremy tilted his head, far too innocent. “Why??”

“It’s evil.”

“I…” Jeremy shrugged, mumbling something under his breath. Not that Chance blamed him, personally. Lucky bastard wasn’t there when they had to fight the big metal monster, the first time in Hallownest where Chance honestly believed he might die.

Past the acid lake, they had found an antechamber of sorts. A large space of surprisingly intact Hallownest build and design. The same round shell, the same stylized crests, the same material. A large, locked gate of sorts sat against the back wall, unmoving. And thankfully, not permeated by the same fungus they had been dealing with for what felt like weeks now.

At least the statue was new. 

The same statue that looked suspiciously like the armored bug they had fought in the Crossroads, distinctive, horned mask and all. The same mask that Tusk was currently perched on. A familiar face, or mask, or simulacrum indeed. Aside from the admittedly impressive replica, there wasn’t any real point of interest.

Which, of course, led to their current conundrum.

“And you’re sure,” Jeremy questioned for the umpteenth time, “that this is the right way?”

“It’s literally a straight path, there’s nowhere else to go.” Unless they had missed a passage or something, this  _ should’ve  _ been the main path to the so-called “City of Tears”.

_ Follow the blue-bricked road, follow the blue-bricked road, follow follow Follow FOLLOW--! _

The Rube-Goldberg contraption of a bridge had to be an indicator, if nothing else. It screamed decadence, waste. Something artistic, precious, fine. A complex mechanism that could break down at the first hint of erosion or damage. And yet, it still worked for them. Another lucky break.

And all it did was lead to this dead end? This had to be a facade, somehow.

And if Tusk’s fascination with the statue was to be believed, they had the same thought. Somehow, impossibly, it was,  _ had _ , to be a key in this puzzle.

_ But how? _

Or, maybe he was overthinking everything. 

_ But that was unlikely. Hallownest had proven to be one large puzzle box, and they were the hands that would peel back layer after layer. An enigma, wrapped in steel, rock, and viral life. _

Every detail had a purpose, and really, what were the odds that this magnificent,  _ horrifying _ , statue was placed here just for show? It had to be a clue. Hell, there was an indentation in the center cusped by its hands, as if it wanted something. 

That  _ couldn’t  _ be the answer, though. It  _ couldn’t  _ be that simple. There wasn’t any sort of mechanism from what he could see, just a smooth, hollow curve.

Circles, circles…

_ Everything was a damn circle. _

Technically an oval, but that was splitting hairs. It didn’t squash his growing frustration

There was  _ something _ they had to be missing.

Tusk finally hopped down from their perch. They too seemed enamored by the hollow space.

“Almost like you could slot something in there,” Jeremy replied, “Not sure what, though.”

A quiet befell them. Jeremy would have none of that.

“...Of course, that’s assuming it would do anything, right? Maybe it recognizes objects based on some kind of magic? Perhaps that’s how Hallownest built its structures? Because, honestly, a lot of their contraptions defy conventional physics, you’d think--”

“H-Hey, stop that!” Chance blurted out, cutting Jeremy off. Tusk had grabbed onto his bag, and was trying their damnedest to pull it from his shoulders. They succeeded, sending it crashing to the floor. The clasp came undone, spilling its contents. Charms, an old bottle of lifeblood, their maps, those pink crystals he’d gotten from when they met Myla, and…

“Oh…” 

Tusk picked up the last trinket, an oval talisman. Specifically, a shell-like, heavy-looking one died a deep blue and red hue. It was still attached to its thin chain, from when they defeated that-

“False Knight,” He had honestly forgotten they had picked that particular trinket up. Why he hadn’t made the connection earlier, he wasn’t sure, but thankfully, Tusk had.

“False Knight? What are you talking about?” Jeremy had turned his attention back to Chance while Tusk took up the crest, “And what does it have to do with that thing?”

“Erhm… It’s a…” Chance struggled, trying to think up an explanation. The true events did indeed happen, yet were equal parts absurd, embarrassing, and just plain gruesome. He really didn’t like thinking about it.

“It’s… nothing, really...” He trailed off, distracted by Tusk breaking off the chains and slotting the artifact into the slot. It fit perfectly, snugly even. A solitary click came from the statue; a sign of acceptance? Or was the floor about to fall out from under them?

…

Jeremy was the first to speak.

“Maybe it-?”

A rumble. A loud rumbling beside them.

The gate, previously as immovable as the rocks around it, was slowly rising. It was awe-inspiring, in a way. It absolutely enraptured the trio.

Eventually, the gate finished its ascent, coming to a stop with one last crash. It hung over the now empty space, a new aperture onward. It was almost idyllic. If they ignored the spikes on the bottom of the gate, of course. That ruined the mood.

“Damn.” That was all he could say.

“D-Darn,” Jeremy followed, still in a daze.

Chance was fairly certain Tusk would have voiced the sentiment if they could talk.

* * *

“...So in order to keep rhythm throughout the entire ship, they’d all sing songs with a steady rhythm to keep everyone synchronized. Isn’t that cool?”

“Mhmm.”

The walk through the blue hallways was strangely quiet. Chance had gotten so used to the constant noises of the Wastes; the fizzing acid, the bursts of gas, the endless chittering of bugs that refused to leave them alone.

By contrast, this place was almost  _ hauntingly _ silent. Only some distant rumbling that Chance couldn’t quite make out. It was  _ cold _ here, too, not unlike a windy day in Dirtmouth.

“Sooo…” Jeremy had tried making conversation, “What’s that in your hand?”

Oh. Chance didn’t even notice he still had his phone. “It’s…” He still didn’t feel like explaining what it was. He couldn’t even demonstrate it with the dead battery, so what was the point? “It’s a… thing. Had it before I came to Hallownest.”

Jeremy paused. “Before…?”

“Before I… lost my memories. Y’know.”

Jeremy looked at him, before pulling his hood down even further over his face. It wasn’t an easy subject to talk about, but it was a reminder of what he was here for. Once he cured himself, he needed to  _ find _ himself.

God, the road ahead seemed  _ so long. _

“...I thought it might be like… a clue or something,” Chance mumbled. “I mean…” He sighed. It didn’t matter. Talking didn’t get him anywhere these days.

_ sccrRREEEEEE-! _

It all happened so fast. One second, it was too quiet, the next, his ears were ringing. He hit the floor as fire erupted all around him, his eyes unable to focus as he was sent flying. He felt numb, like he had receded into himself how a turtle recedes into its shell. He took a step back in his own mind to escape the pain of his body, leaving himself running on autopilot.

Groaning on the floor, having been thrown several feet away, he reached around to his bleeding arm, phone still in his hand, and mindlessly pushed his Soul at it, telling himself it didn’t happen, that he was fine, that he--

_ Bzzt! _

Chance blinked, and the world came into focus again. Rolling onto his back, he ignored Jeremy’s cries of concern to check his phone--

45% battery.

“C-Chance! Are you okay?! Are you hurt?!” Jeremy sounded like he was about to cry, kneeling down by his side, shaking him for any kind of response. Chance only stared absently at the small battery icon in the corner of his phone screen, his mind elsewhere.

His phone slipped out of his hands and fell on his face with a slap.

* * *

Tusk had run off again.

Chance sprinted down the blue hallways, Jeremy following as best as he could. It occurred to him how long they’d been going by now; was this really a City? It just felt like a fancy version of the tunnels they’d been crawling through this whole damn time.

And just like they always have, Tusk had wandered off when Chance wasn’t looking. Where’d they even run off  _ to? _ It wasn’t like there were many doors or other pathways down this one hall--

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Chance stumbled onto a fork in the road, Jeremy nearly running into his back from his sudden stop. Two pathways, left or right, with no middle road.

“Y-You take the left, I’ll go right!” Chance said in a panic. He  _ needed _ to make sure Tusk was okay. It was a new area, they didn’t know what to expect, what if they got hit by--

(“W-Wait! Chance!” Jeremy called out to him as he ran down the right hallway. Chance didn’t listen.)

\--another one of those exploding bat things, but what if there was  _ so much worse _ down here, he was their team healer, right? It was his responsibility to make sure they were okay, he had to catch up to them before they went too far, if there was one fork in the road already who knows how many other places they could’ve gone by now, if he took too long to find them he might never find them again, and he--

_ ((“CHANCE!” Jeremy had screamed distantly behind him, his feet frozen to the ground. His eyes watered under his hood. He couldn’t do this alone. He couldn’t do  _ anything _ alone. Was Chance abandoning him? Why couldn’t he just be strong like Chance was?)) _

\--couldn’t do this alone, he was lost without Tusk, without them he’d surely succumb to the Infection and become a zombified husk, he’d never get his memories back he’d never be himself again, he couldn’t fight he couldn’t survive on his own, Tusk was all he had he just wanted to go home, he was scared he was cold he was hungry when was the last time he ate? When was the last time he slept? Did he even have time to take care of himself anymore when the Infection was getting worse, he couldn’t stop, he had to keep going if it  _ killed _ him--

_ …..ffffssshhhhhhhh….. _

Chance’s legs, pounding against the cold stone, finally gave out, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. His body screamed at him, his lungs trying to return life to his tired and battered body. He lay there for a long moment, listening to the sound of rain falling on glass, covering his face in his arms, unaware (and perhaps uncaring) if anything were to sneak up on him and kill him.

Several minutes had passed before he tried to pull his head up, and he was frozen, awash in a deep blue light. A single, piercing tangerine eye stared up in awe at the massive window before him, crystal raindrops reflecting and refracting a soft pale light over his defeated figure.

Staggering to his feet, he limped over to the window, counting the paces in his head. One, two, three, four… The warped glass bent outwards, with thin metal supports stretched across it, resembling the shell of a bug.

Through the endless rainfall, Chance gasped slowly at the sight of Hallownest’s Capital.

The City of Tears.

Indigo towers stretched all the way up the impossibly high cavern ceiling, adorned in silver spikes along every surface, the entire colossal structure challenging the eternal rainfall that tried to drown it out. Every last sorrowful drop was filtered all the way down. The City itself was  _ layered, _ in how the buildings didn’t just get shorter the further out you went from the center, but how they fluctuated, with long bridges spanning across large gaps in the City’s empty space, like a spiderweb of steel and glass.

A deep blue haze settled over everything in sight, only resisted by the handful of pale Lumafly lanterns that dotted the streets and illuminated some of the windows, turning the deep cobalt atmosphere into a light arctic blue around the ground near them. And at the center of it all, Chance could barely spy between the buildings, a massive monolith standing proud, reaching far beyond the rest of the City, just barely contained within the almost cosmically large cavern.

Perfect in function and form. Engineering, meets architecture, meets art.

“Chance?”

He jumped at the voice, staggering away from the window as he stared over his shoulder with paranoid orange eyes. He recognized Quirrel relaxing on a bench in the same room, and let his shoulder sag again after a moment. Two thin, porcelain horns poked up from over the backrest of the bench, and Tusk stood on the seat to turn around and look at Chance, their hands resting on the top of the bench like a fence.

Chance sighed with something bordering between exasperation and relief, and stumbled over.

“You scared me,” Chance said, giving Tusk a soft pat on the head. They leaned into his touch for a moment, before pulling away and scooching over so Chance could sit on the bench as well.

Before he had even fully sat down, Tusk had pressed themselves into his side, sandwiching themselves between Chance and Quirrel on a bench that was just barely large enough to accommodate them all. Chance raised his arm out of the way for a moment, before sighing and resting it on Tusk’s head again.

“Glad to see you made it safe,” Quirrel smiled. “Sorry we could not travel together.”

“D’worry about it, we made it alright,” Chance sighed, staring out the large window before them. Was the glass stained, or was the City really  _ that _ blue?

He shook his head, making Quirrel look at him. “I can’t believe we’ll have to go out in all…” he threw up his arms, making a vague, wild gesture to the drenched city sprawling before them, separated only by a sheet of glass. “...all  _ that.” _

Quirrel chuckled. “The rain is not so awful, once you get used to it.”

Tusk nudged a bit closer to him, and Chance decided that staying here for a few minutes longer wouldn’t hurt.

* * *

He wasn’t going to get used to it.

He should’ve stayed there longer. There, on that uncomfortable metal bench, Tusk and Quirrel sitting close to him, watching the rainfall from  _ inside. _ With the safety of a firm room and a window of glass.

Chance cringed as he felt the rain fall on the nape of his neck and soak through his jacket. At the very least, the water was just a bit warmer than he was expecting, and if he wasn’t getting all his clothes and belongings drenched right now, it might even be soothing.

He hated the feeling of his clothes sticking to his skin. If he ever wanted to explore this place -- and he  _ really, really _ did -- he’d need an umbrella or a raincoat, because right now he just wanted to get in and out as fast as possible.

(He wished his jacket had a hoodie. Alas, it was something more akin to a bomber jacket, but made of a material that was thicker and less shiny. He didn’t know what. It was wet.)

“FFfffffuckthis…” Chance shuddered. He looked over at Tusk, “Let’s go.”

He took about five steps out of the elevator that led them into the city proper, when he realized he had no idea where the nailsmith was.

...This wasn’t going to work. They only had a few days, right? There was no way they could explore an entire city in a few days. If it was the capital of a fallen kingdom, how many people would be here? It seemed abandoned up until the point where he met Quirrel, minus the occasional Infected husk.

Oh… Oh, God, was this entire  _ city _ filled with those zombies? All of a sudden, Chance was apprehensive about exploring the City of Tears, afraid he’d wind up a part of the common masses of the mindless. ...Fuck, what was he even  _ doing? _ How were those Mantis Lords supposed to help him find a cure when they clearly didn’t have one? What was the point in fighting them if it didn’t help him either way?

Tusk stopped a few paces ahead of him, turning to look at him. Chance shook his head, sending drops of water flying from his dripping wet hair. “‘s nothing. Let’s keep going.”

* * *

Chance wanted to break down.

He was couched under an awning in a small alleyway deeper in the City, rain still pouring over his front. He held Iselda’s nail in a deathgrip, paranoia fogging his vision as he looked frantically left and right.

He’d lost Jeremy  _ and _ Tusk.

He was so preoccupied with finding Tusk earlier that he’d left Jeremy to his own devices. Poor, defenseless Jeremy, alone in a strange new area that wanted them all dead, judging by the ambush of Infected soldiers that had overwhelmed them. Chance had more run in circles than actually fought, like the  _ fucking _ coward he was, and ended up losing Tusk somewhere in the fray.

(All those people, fallen under this spell… It really did get everyone. Who’s to say it wouldn’t get him in the end, too?)

_ “T...Tuuusskh?” _ Chance called out meekly from his hiding place, his voice barely audible over the pouring rain, his chest feeling like it was about to collapse. He couldn’t raise his voice at all, or he’d risk alerting those zombified sentries to his whereabouts. 

_ “J-...Jay…?” _ (God, this was  _ literally _ just a zombie apocalypse, no matter how you looked at it. He hadn’t watched many zombie shows(that he could remember) but everything was  _ awful _ and  _ painful _ and  _ terrifying _ because  _ he had the same shit they had _ and absolutely  _ nothing _ was going his way.)

He cried out, and the only response was the endless drone of rainfall.

Chance’s grip on his nail loosened as his knees quaked. From the rain running down his face, he didn’t know if he was crying or not anymore.

He just wanted to go home.

…

…

…

…

_ brrriiing! _

Chance damn near jumped out of his own skin. The nail fell out of his grasp and hit the wet stone pavement with a loud clatter, startling Chance all over again.

_ brrriiing! _

Chance screamed for a moment from the assault on his poor nervous senses, ripping the phone out of his pocket with shaky hands. Water ran down the screen harmlessly as he stared at the screen.

...

No caller ID. Not even a number attached.

_ (He was like a whole MILE under the FUCKING EARTH in a MEDIEVAL CITY in a world of BUGS who still used SWORDS, how in the good name of FUCK was he getting fucking PHONE CALLS--) _

...

He didn’t know why he did it when he pressed his thumb to the green answer button. He didn’t know why any of this was happening, or how it was even possible. But for some reason he couldn’t comprehend, by some will within or beyond himself, he raised the phone to his ear, and with an unsteady breath, asked,

“H-Hello?”

_ “Do you want some help? You seem like you could use it.” _

The voice on the other end made his blood run cold. A voice so comforting, so warm, so gentle. So caring. So cruel. So hauntingly familiar, but the lack of a name to place to it made shivers run up his already frigid spine.

_ “Hello? Are you still there?” _ (He wasn’t.)

Chance quickly fought to regain his senses, shaking his head to snap himself back into focus, spraying water droplets around him as he did. He stammered, “I-- Okay, look, I… Where-- Who even--”

A chuckle, as soft as evening clouds drifted through his phone speaker. (He thought phone calls were usually less clear.)  _ “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Try moving forward.” _

He blinked, staring ahead into the alleyway in front of him, eyes wide with fear. He stood there for a long moment, letting the rain wash over his body and seep between the cracks in the stones below him.

_ “Well? Pick up your nail and go. I can’t walk this path for you.” _

The voice came back suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. “I-- Fuck, okay, right, I’ll... get goin’.” He grabbed his nail from the ground, telling himself to be careful not to let it slip out of his grasp again, with the rain running under his hand.

“Hey listen, do I uh, know you from somewhere?”

_ “Hm. You wouldn’t remember, would you?” _

“I-- Did we--” He sneezed. “Have we met?”

The voice on the other end hummed thoughtfully.  _ “Once, perhaps. Or maybe several times? Depends on what you define as ‘meet’, I suppose.” _

“That does…  _ really _ doesn’t answer my question, also how’d you even get this--”

_ “Oh, try turning right here.” _

“R-Right,” he parroted, nearly slipping on the wet pavement as he kept trying to run down the alleyways as quietly as possible. “Uh, how’d you get my number? N-No, actually, how’re we even having this call…”

_ “You don’t remember? You gave it to me once, when we ‘met’.” _

Chance ran a soaked sleeve over his face in a futile attempt to wipe the rain away, careful not to bring Iselda’s nail too close to his face. He felt like laughing, this was all so  _ stupid. _ “D-Did I now?”

_ “Mhmm. You’ve given me a lot of things.” _

Chance didn’t know how to respond to that.

* * *

“...estimated, though I’ve since guessed the truth.”

_ “Ooh, stop here, just at this corner!” _

“O-Okay-!” Chance pressed his back to the wall and leaned out from behind a corner, scanning the area before him. He’s been running through alleyways seemingly at random for at least the past 15 minutes, depending on when he’d started paying attention to his phone’s clock. At least, it had  _ seemed _ random, when it was all at the whim of this mysterious voice that had, against all logic, managed to give him a phone call.

(“O-Okay, like, how the hell do you even know where I am?”  _ “Don’t worry, I can see everything you see. I  _ always _ know where you are.” _ Holyshitwhatthefuck--)

What he saw past his vantage point made Chance do a double-take. The alleyway had opened up into a massive city square, in which large streams of water flowed around in a great circle, several bridges passing over it to reach the island that was the center of the square.

Chance didn’t make the connection before, but the City of Tears was a lot like what he’d heard of Venice. Many of the city’s main roads were split down the middle by large rivers with the occasional bridge to pass over them, and judging by how deep they ran below the footroads and bridges, Chance could hazard a guess and say that small passenger boats were meant to travel through them.

Unless the hypothetical boats had tarps, he couldn’t understand why someone would want to go on a boat trip in the endless pouring rain, but if you lived in the City of Tears you’d probably have to, like,  _ really _ fucking love water anyway.

Ignoring the surrounding architecture, Chance let his gaze fall to the center of the area, where a massive statue stood of a towering figure, horns far longer than his own arm, its blank expression somehow severe. Circling the figure stood three shorter beings, masked and in cloaks, their identities unrecognizable.

Standing at the foot of the statue was  _ Tusk!!!, _ but Chance couldn’t run out and grab him yet. Just in front of Tusk stood Hornet, her expression unreadable as she spoke to them, alone. He was  _ not _ keen to have another run-in with her. She’d given him his phone back, but past that, he had no idea what she’d do at the sight of him. She at least wouldn’t kill him. Probably.

_ “Listen,” _ the voice whispered, and Chance did. Everything about this scene screamed  _ Important!! _ to him anyway.

“You've seen beyond this kingdom's bounds,” Hornet continued. “Yours is resilience born of two voids.” Chance pondered this; beyond the kingdom’s bounds? That was… where he came from himself, wasn’t it?

Hornet sighed before continuing, “It's no surprise then you've managed to reach the heart of this world. In so doing, you shall know the sacrifice that keeps it standing.” She glanced over at the statue, eyeing it up and down. Maybe Chance was just projecting, but something in her gaze almost seemed… longing.

“If,” she spoke sharply, as though trying to snap back into focus. “If knowing that truth, you'd still attempt a role in Hallownest's perpetuation, seek the Grave in Ash and the mark it would grant to one like you.”

_ “The Grave in Ash…” _ the voice on the other end of the phone mused.  _ “Oh, she can’t  _ possibly _ mean _ that _ place…” _

Chance perked up, trying to get more information to help alleviate his confusion. “What? Do you know what she’s talking about? Where--”

“And one other thing.”

Chance stopped mid-sentence, looking back into the city square from his hiding place. Hornet had turned to leave, but glanced over her shoulder to say one last thing to Tusk.

“The human that you’ve allowed to follow you thus far. If you approach the Grave, do not bring him with you. He has no place in this dying kingdom.”

And with that, she threw her needle into the air, and vanished into the wind.

* * *

“Tusk!” Chance called out, running into the city square now that Hornet had left. Tusk spun around, spotting Chance and waving to him as he came closer. He fell to his knees when he reached the statue, feeling some sense of relief wash over him, knowing that Tusk was safe and well.

He considered embracing Tusk, but decided against it with how soaked he was. Trying to catch his breath, he looked up at the statue before him. Its towering figure was even more imposing up close, even elevated above the ground on a pedestal that resembled a blooming flower.

A small plaque rested at the foot of the ominous statue. It was written in Hallownestian, making Chance furrow his brow. He was getting sick of being illiterate. But…

** _“Memorial to the Hollow Knight,”_ ** the voice on the phone spoke, slow and calculating. Chance almost forgot there was anyone still on the line.  _ “In the Black Vault far above. Through its sacrifice… Hallownest lasts... eternal.” _

Chance stared at the plaque for a long moment, before he blinked. “What?”, he asked, feeling dumb for having all of this important shit fly right over his head. “What does any of that mean? What’s--”

A low chuckle came through from the speaker.

Then a laugh, then a howl, and then it grew into a cacophony of laughter so immense it made Chance drop his phone to the wet pavement with a clatter.

Even in his head, he heard it, unable to cover his ears, unable to escape.

Laughter about irony. Laughter about tragedy. Laughter about lies.

Somewhere, a tumor throbbed with revulsion. Somewhere, a cancer spread. Somewhere, tears fell to the ground, and echoed across an endless darkness for none to hear.

Chance reared over and smacked at the ground blindly, his hands landing on his phone, his thumb pressing at the slick surface of the phone in a desperate attempt to hang up.

With a  _ beep!, _ the call ended, and Chance would’ve thrown up if he had any food in his stomach.

He sat there for a long moment, taking deep, guttural breaths, before he let his arm give, and he fell over on his side, laying against the statue base. Rain poured over him, his hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck, and his shirt sticking to his chest. He didn’t know what to do with his arms, so he just wrapped them across his chest, hugging himself in an effort to calm down.

Tusk walked up and wrapped their small arms around his shoulder to comfort him.

“...Thanks…”

They stayed there, in the shadow of the mysterious Hollow Knight memorial, letting themselves weather away in the endless rain, too far gone from anywhere they could call home.

A gruff voice cleared his throat behind them. Chance, too tired to feel startled, looked up through his soaking wet hair to see a new figure. Just slightly shorter than himself, with a hunched back, a thick cowlick on their head and a beard that reached the floor. They held a fist up to their mouth and coughed into it again to get their attention.

“I imagine a pitiful sight such as yourselves would appreciate a break from this blasted rainfall, eh?”

* * *

“Thank you again, for letting us... dry off a bit here,” Chance said, his mind absent. Sitting in a small chair by the window, he was too busy looking around the room that this stranger, Lemm, had declared his home; alien antiques crowded every shelf, from the rusted to the shiny to the eroded to the wrinkled, everything gave off that same musty smell of  _ history. _

“Bah, I don’t plan on letting you stay long,” Lemm stated bluntly. “But travelers are few and far between in this damned City anyway. You’re more customers than guests to me, if you want to hear it honestly.”

Chance blinked, letting his gaze drift away from Tusk, who Lemm had needed to shout  _ “Hands off!” _ at earlier for getting touchy with his collection. He’d kind of already pegged Lemm as the ‘reluctantly kind’ type, who’d be willing to help but would be grumpy about it the whole time. Slipping his phone in his messenger bag for later, Chance set it aside to keep talking.

“Customers?”

“Well, for a wanderer, I imagine you come across many interesting items in your travels. Maybe you'd care to part with some? I'll offer a fair trade for each.”

Chance had nothing to say to this, but Tusk perked up at the proposal. They strolled over to Lemm and reached within… themselves… to pull out a large slab of stone from seemingly nowhere.

“A Wanderer's Journal, eh?” Lemm actually sounded somewhat impressed. He took the so-called journal and laid it on his counter, examining it closely. “Though they're common finds about the kingdom, I much enjoy the deciphering of their text. Read together, they paint a morbid tale. It seems fate was unkind to most who travel within Hallownest's ruin.”

Chance furrowed his brow, pondering Lemm’s words. “So… you’re a historian, of sorts?”

“I am a  _ relic seeker,” _ Lemm asserted with exasperation. “...But yes, I suppose the study of history is inherent to my line of work.” He pulled out a magnifying glass to study the journal in detail before continuing, “There's a forgotten history hidden in this kingdom's antiques, though few seem willing to look. Others come just to claw away at the cracks and ruins.”

“Well…” This seemed kind of rude now that he was thinking about it, but he still felt like it was necessary to ask for his own sake. “I’m… not from around here. N-Not from Hallownest, I mean.”

Lemm looked up from the work he was so absorbed in to stare at Chance. “Oh?”

“I was wondering if you could… teach me? About Hallownest’s history?”

Lemm stared for a moment, before he shook his head with a bark of ingenuous laughter.  _ “Why _ would I do that? I’ve got my own business to attend to here, I’m not interested in becoming a teacher for some uneducated  _ human _ who can barely tell up from down.”

…

…

…

...Lemm gave him a look. “...What? I know what you are. Of course I know.”

Chance startled at Lemm’s confident words. “W-What?”

_ “What, _ what? Did you expect me to act like I made a slip of the tongue, that I knew something I oughtn’t? I know what a human is, people like you are all over Hallownest’s history from before the Infection.”

Chance stared with wide eyes at Lemm for a good moment, a heavy silence lulling in the small antique store, before rubbing his still-wet face with his hands to try and wake himself up and process what Lemm said.

“...So it’s true, then,” Chance mumbled, more to himself than anything. “There’s been other humans in Hallownest.”

“Of course there have been,” Lemm said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “At the very least,  _ one _ other human. Every account of their activities is vague and, quite frankly, unbelievable, but it cannot be denied. Don’t tell me you thought you were the first?”

“I… kinda did. Everyone else I’ve met thought so, too.”

Lemm snorted. “It seems history is even more unpopular outside this room than I thought. A shame, really. Human artifacts are among the rarest there are in this kingdom.”

Chance sighed. So Hallownest’s shrouded history wasn’t just some isolated mystery anymore, if it tied into his own world. There was no way to tell how  _ many _ humans had been to Hallownest before him, other than there being at least one, but--

“Wait. You have human artifacts?”

Lemm nodded. “Aside from mere documents, I have  _ a _ human artifact,” he corrected. “Precisely  _ one.” _

Chance opened his mouth to ask about it, when something moved out of the corner of his vision. Glancing sideways out of the window, past the blur of raindrops racing down the glass, he could see a lone figure in an oak-green cloak standing out on a bridge in the streets below, just above a rushing river.

“...Jeremy…?”

The figure got just a  _ bit _ too close to the ledge, before they slipped on the wet pavement and fell over the too-short barrier and straight into the water with a muffled splash.

_ “JAY!”, _ Chance shouted, startling both Lemm and Tusk as he flew from his chair and out the door in a mad sprint, his bag falling over and onto the ground in a mess as he ran. Tusk, unsure of what was happening but not wanting to leave Chance alone, ran out as well to follow him.

“W-Wait just one moment, you forgot your--!” Lemm started, holding up Chance’s bag, before he sighed and lowered his arm. Why even try? He’d be back for the thing later, surely.

Casting a glance at the thing, his eyes caught onto a familiar shape; pinned to the strap of the bag was a grey-and-red Hallownest Seal. Why would a clueless outsider have one of these things around?

Curiosity piqued, Lemm opened the bag to peek inside.

“Oh my. This is…  _ quite _ the find.”

* * *

Chance stumbled outside, nearly blown away by the rain washing over him, having only just started to dry off. He sprinted out alongside the river, his feet threatening to slip on the wet roads as well.

Was Tusk behind him? He couldn’t see, the rain was too heavy.

He grabbed onto one of the railings and called down below, hearing no response and seeing no bodies in the water. Without skipping a beat, he ran over to another railing on the other side of the bridge, his heart pounding with panic.

He’d abandoned Jeremy once now. He couldn’t do it again.

Just as he was running down the street, something in the ground shifted, sending Chance to the ground with an unsteady thud. He needed to be more careful; he thought he’d be used to this after all these months, it was a miracle he didn’t have a splinter yet!

Staggering to his feet, he raised an arm to cover his face from the torrential downpour. When did the rain get so much worse?

_ “And we'll rooooll the oooool’ chariot along-! _

_ We'll rooooll the oooool’ chariot along-!” _

Chance ducked under some sailors who were tossing barrels to one another into storage, singing sea shanties over the thunderous noise of rain to keep their rhythm, water running down their chitinous shells and off of them like nothing. He stumbled up the deck, grabbing at the handrail as the great ship rocked from the waves crashing into it.

_ “We'll rooooll the oooool’ chariot along-! _

_ And we'll aaaaall haaaang oooon beeee-hiiiiiind~!” _

Members of the crew ran left and right, frantically tying down the ship and everything on it for the worst of the storm. It hit them so suddenly, they’d hardly gotten the time to do it beforehand, and had to rush in the horrible weather to keep everything afloat. Nobody screamed, nobody panicked, as long as they all kept singing along.

A flash of light appeared in the corner of his eye, and the roll of thunder nearly brought Chance to his knees.  <strike> (Weren’t they just underground a second ago-) </strike> Finally, he reached the steps leading up to the bridge, where their captain awaited.

The one who would steer them. The one who would guide them. The one who would light their way.

_ “Get up here!” _ she called as she gripped the helm, her voice sharp but something looking more concerned in her expression. Only concerned for him, he was sure; she wouldn’t be worried by something as measly as a hurricane.  _ “I thought I called you earlier?” _

“G-Got caught up in the storm!” Chance had to shout for her to hear him over the deafening storm and the cacophony of singing voices on the deck below them. He’d never raise his voice at Captain L████ otherwise, and she knew it.

She scoffed, her eyes hidden in the shadow of her large feathered hat, but a small smile tugged at her lips.  _ “Don’t worry about any of it,” _ she said,  _ “No matter what happens, we’ll reach our grand goal, together.” _

Just as she said it, a bolt of lightning struck the top of one of the massive masts, the shockwave sending Chance to the floor from the explosion of wood, fire and plasma far above them. A poor sailor was flung from the crow’s nest screaming into the water, some of the crew immediately rushing to pull him from the water, and others working to put out the fire that raged above them, despite the endless rainfall.

Captain L████ shouted some command to the sailors below her, who all obeyed without question. Nobody would question the Captain.

Her snow-white captain’s outfit, adorned in gold treasures and buttons that gleamed even in the dark of the storm, with two large flintlocks strapped around her waist by two belts, a large overcoat of some strange material as confident as leather and pure as silk, and large cap with a single grand feather sticking out the side, seemed to be unaffected by the rainfall around her.

_ “Don’t worry,” _ she repeated. Her voice was barely a whisper, but clear as day despite the torrential storm.  _ “Our ship will lead us to greatness, together.” _

Chance, his white stringed-up poet’s shirt, dark black buttoned pants, and well-worn black leather shoes, were all soaked down to the bone, sticking to his bare skin.  <strike> (What happened to his jacket, what the  _ fuck _ was a poet’s shirt-) </strike> Still on the ground, he took a shaky breath before saying,

“Is it… really  _ our _ ship, though?”

Captain L████ stopped, turning to look at him, her golden eyes piercing through the darkness that obscured her face like a mask.  _ “What?” _

He staggered to his feet, looking up at his beloved Captain. “Is it  _ our _ greatness if it is not  _ our _ ship?” With great effort, he pulled himself to his feet, throwing his arms around haphazardly to keep his balance, before he looked L████ right in the eyes.

“If I’m going to find greatness, I want to find it  _ myself, _ on my  _ own _ terms.”

Nearly slipping on the wet boards, he turned on his heel and sprinted away. L████ called out something to him with an outstretched arm, but he’d already made up his mind.

He raised a leg to jump onto the railing of the ship, before leaping off the deck. For a terrifying few seconds, he was in free fall, just another raindrop falling into a great ocean, until he hit the water with a great splash.

...

_ “...why…?” _

...

Chance opened his eyes in the water. Looking left and right, he didn’t see anything in the water but drops of rain hitting the surface before being absorbed into the greater body of water. Then, his eyes landed on a dark form at the bottom of the river. 

...

_ “...wouldn’t things be… so much better that way…?” _

...

Swimming down, he reached out and grabbed ahold of Jeremy’s arm. His fluffy, soft, soaked,  _ inhuman _ arm. It was terrifyingly limp, and for a moment Chance’s heart stopped before he steeled himself, wrapping another arm around Jeremy’s torso. Despite the freezing water, he was still warm, thank God. He couldn’t leave Jeremy alone again.

...

_ “...just want… to be… happy…” _

…

Kicking his feet, he held Jeremy close as he pulled them up to the surface. It was indefinite, the raindrops constantly warring against the border between air and water, like an endless volley of bullets from army with muskets. Squeezing his eyes shut, he embraced the darkness for just a slight moment before they breached the surface.

The muted drone of raindrops from under the water turned into a clear static, and Chance gulped in air, blinking lights out of his eyes. One arm wrapped around Jeremy’s waist and another helping keep him afloat, he swam over to the nearest ledge, and with a great effort, heaved Jeremy out of the water and rolled his body over onto the ledge, limp and soaked and cold like a wet rag.

Chance pulled himself up onto the ledge as well, letting himself lay on his back as he took deep breaths, trying to steady his heart. Rain smacked into his face as his chest rose and fell, his feet dangling down just barely above the water.

Coming back to his senses, he pulled himself fully onto the land, and reached over to shake Jeremy. No response, but at the very least he was breathing. Chance picked him up again and carried him under an awning, a small dark corner where they could shelter from the rain.

“J-Jeremy? Are you…” he took another breath, “Are you okay? H-Here, we need to get that cloak off, or you’ll get hypothermia, o-or--”

Not thinking about anything other than Jeremy’s well-being, he reached for the clasp around his oak-green cloak and pulled it open with a soft  _ click, _ and Jeremy’s cloak fell from his face and around his shoulders.

Chance froze. This… couldn’t be real.

Under the hood was a head of dirty blond hair, soaked and stuck to Jeremy’s features much like Chance’s own dark brown hair. Two long feathery antennae sprung out the top of his head. His half-lidded eyes, slowly coming back into consciousness, were not orange but a vibrant yellow, with an inky black sclera. His hands (paws?) and lower arms were covered in a thick cream-white fur, with thin chitinous fingers extending from it, and a thick mane of the same fur sat cozily around his neck.

From behind his back, a pair of fuzzy, colorful wings extended slightly. Jeremy was just like a… moth. But…

There was no mistaking it. The smooth pale skin, the shape of his face; soft lips instead of mandibles, a full nose instead of holes, his ears and his cheeks and  _ himself; _ in a world of bugs, Chance looked at Jeremy’s face and saw a reflection of himself.

Jeremy was neither bug nor human, but somewhere impossibly in-between; a hybrid between two different worlds, like a coin flipped on neither two sides but balanced perfectly on its edge.

Fully awake now, Jeremy’s lemon-yellow eyes stared up into Chance’s orange ones, watching as tangerine tears streamed down Chance’s face and dropped onto his cloak below.

“I’m sorry,” Chance said, barely comprehending. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you behind, I’m sorry I… I didn’t know, I--”

Jeremy’s dripping wet fluff-covered arms wrapped around Chance’s torso, and the hybrid pulled the human into an embrace. Tangerine tears fell onto Jeremy’s back while crystal-clear ones fell onto Chance’s.

“I…” something resembling a sad laugh came from Jeremy. “I thought I already told you… You apologize too much, y’know that?”

Chance froze, unable to think, before he collapsed into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall by Bob Dylan.  
Other musical references in this chapter include:  
Roll the Old Chariot Along (Old folk song with vague history, but I'll use David Coffin's version for this)
> 
> 12am writing brain be like: seafaring radiance
> 
> Finally revealed Jeremy's identity. Was fun watching people go from "he's a human!" to "he's a moth!", but it turns our you're both right. technically. answering this question only leads to like a billion others popping up but all shall be answered in due time, i promise :)
> 
> yes, Chance can now Focus into his phone to charge it. It Just Works. don't think too hard about it. also getting a Mysterious Phone Call from a Mysterious Stranger because y'know, "infection in the phone" fuckery is fun.
> 
> and i wonder who this "other human(s)" Lemm mentioned is...?
> 
> of this 7.5k word chapter, i somehow wrote like 3k of it in a single night. i don't know why or how. i fear my own strength


	20. Lyin' Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "On the other side of town, a boy is waiting,  
With fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal.”

Chance was  _ freezing.  _ As was Jeremy, even if he denied it. The eternally cool, blue visage of the city matched the icy temperature of the rain-laden air, and its nippy talons had torn into their soaked shapes. The rain may have been cold, but the canal’s chilling grip was the distilled, concentrated essence of the city.

The City of Tears was magnificent, but under the Infection’s curse, was as cold and soulless as the stream they had fallen in.

As it was, Chance and Jeremy were hunched over, shivering in the constant downfall. The rain, unable to find any purchase on their thoroughly soaked bodies, spilled off onto the cobbles.

Tusk had run out after Chance, only to find both Jeremy and him embracing, despite their sapped strength. An outpouring of Chance’s pent-up emotions, flowing from his mind like the rain flowed from his body. 

The two being led out of the rain by Tusk was enough to bring tears to Chance’s eyes, Jeremy not far behind. The mutual shock still hadn’t left, and neither had the cold. How he longed to warm his chilled flesh. His chilled bones.

Suffice to say, Lemm wasn’t happy to see them trail water into his shop.

One thing led to another, and in the end, they were both sitting around a roaring fire in the center of Lemm’s shop, sitting on plush pillows with thick blankets draped across their shoulders. It was warm, blazing, yet took its time to burrow into their flesh and weed out the cold.

The only thing that could’ve made it better was a piping hot beverage, and judging by the growing shriek of the kettle over their campfire, it wasn’t far off.

Chance shivered, clutching the blanket closer to his body, “T-thanks again.” Jeremy nodded eagerly.

“Next time, don’t go jumping into canals,” Lemm answered, preparing the kettle.

A curved window gave a clear view down on the city square, as well as letting the city’s natural light illuminate the shop in its entrancing colors. The fireplace fought the muted, calm aura with its own hisses, crackles, and bright, warm light. He wondered what the view might look like from outside; a single flickering window in a dark, dead city. A lone ship in the midst of a hurricane.

It was a small blot of life, safety within the preserved husk of the City of Tears.

As Lemm got ready to take the kettle off, he glanced over to his side to look at Jeremy,  _ really _ look at him. Rio may have been right when she called him child-like, but that was only in his demeanor; physically speaking, he seemed to be just about Chance’s age, maybe a bit younger. He could only tell from his more human-like features; hell, for all he knew, Jeremy could’ve been well over a hundred.

Chance watched as Lemm poured tea into the four cups on the tray, with the practiced grace of a noble, before setting down the kettle and carrying the tray around. He placed a cup in Chance’s lap, one in Tusk’s lap, but he paused when he handed Jeremy his cup, eyeing the soaked boy up and down.

“...A hybrid, eh.”

Jeremy flinched under Lemm’s gaze, before the relic collector shook his head and stepped away. He strolled over to a plush, antique chair, no doubt his favorite reclining spot, and took his own cup from the tray, letting himself relax.

Chance held his cup, Jeremy and Tusk doing the same. He sniffed at it, the steam clearing his nose. It smelled of earth, yet something more, just at the edge of his senses.  _ Spring.  _ He took a sip. 

Not the best flavor, but it felt wonderful going down his throat, warming his innards.

Jeremy, putting down his now empty cup, sighed in delight, “T-T-That’s m-much better. T-Thank you,” he stammered through chattering teeth. Lemm nodded.

Tusk put down their finished cup as well. How they drank, he wasn’t sure. For his part, he took another sip. Even if he didn’t quite enjoy the flavor, it did wonders to calm his shocked thoughts.

Everything was peaceful, right in the world. It was just the four of them, sitting around the roaring fire, drinking tea.

Lemm’s dour expression took away from the mood.

“...Ah, before I forget,” Lemm spoke up. He reached over the armrest of his chair and pulled up Chance’s messenger bag. “In your rush to leave, you left this behind.”

“Oh!” Chance would’ve scrambled up to take it, but he wasn’t in any position to move from his pile of blankets. Jeremy was sitting closer, so he reached over to take the bag from Lemm and handed it to Chance. “T-Thanks, sorry about that,” Chance ran through a couple of formalities.

“Now, forgive me for being nosy, but I couldn’t help but notice you had something interesting in that bag.”

Chance froze, despite already being freezing. “W...What ‘something’?”

“Well, that black device you have is quite unique, but I’m neither a thief nor a fool. I can tell when something is somebody else’s personal property. Aside from that, however,” he paused to take another long sip from his tea, exhaling as he finished. “Those crystals you possess are quite eye-catching.”

The… crystals? Chance opened up his bag to peek inside, spying a few fist-sized chunks of bright pink crystals. “Oh, I remember these,” he said, grabbing one and showing it to Tusk. “Remember? When we checked out that big crystal mine in the Crossroads.”

...

_ Idly, he broke a smaller crystal with his nail, shattering it into small bits like a small child would shatter an icicle. The fragmented crystals were warm to the touch, sending small tingles down his hand. It felt familiar, yet also so alien... They could prove useful, though. _

_ A few of the more intact pieces slipped into his bag. He double-checked to make sure nobody saw him do so, and onwards they went. _

...

Tusk nodded in recognition.

“Those are raw crystals from the Crystal Peaks,” Lemm explained. “Once, they were refined into glass to use in construction throughout Hallownest. But now, the raw material itself is seen very rarely outside of the mines they are mined in.”

Chance glanced down at the chunk in his hand. Maybe he was overthinking it, but he could’ve sworn it was glowing, reflecting his bright orange eyes back at him.

“I mean… Do you want it?”

Lemm huffed, an odd note in his voice, “Want is a strong word. I’m interested in them, nothing more.”

“I’ve got…” He checked his bag again, “Several here, actually.”

Lemm hummed, eyes closed in deep thought. He seemed to be putting several puzzle pieces together in his head, before he took his teacup and downed the rest of his tea in one big gulp.

“Follow me,” he said, setting his teacup down on a small table beside his chair as he stood up, motioning Chance to follow. “I mentioned that I had a human artifact? I wish to show it to you.”

“...No.”

Lemm took another step forward before he paused, turning around to glare at Chance. “Excuse me?”

Chance grabbed the edges of the blanket that was draped over his head and around his shoulders, pulling it closer to him. “Cold.”

Lemm stared at him, exasperation written across his face, before he threw his hands up. “Fine!”, he said, sitting back down in his plush chair as he prepared to pour himself another cup of tea. “Fine. I can show it to you once you  _ grow up.” _

Chance hummed with content.

* * *

Once Chance finally felt comfortable enough to leave the fire, Lemm had led him into a dark room in the back. It was some kind of backup storage room for stuff that Lemm didn’t see as having any real historical value, but stuff he also didn’t want to just discard. Jeremy and Tusk had stayed behind; they didn’t want to move an inch, anyway. Not that Chance blamed them.

The storeroom was  _ cramped, _ yet not disorganized. Chance couldn’t immediately tell how Lemm’s stuff was all arranged, but it  _ was _ arranged; his dizzying collection of trinkets placed neatly on the shelves that covered every wall, some dustier than others. Many items were also scattered on tables that limited the walking space, yet nothing seemed to be on the floor, aside from a few boxes slid under the tables. The place was an honest to God antique store, with the same poor lighting and musty scent of old mahogany and tobacco smoke.

“It’s back here somewhere. Give me a moment…” Lemm grunted, staggering around some of the tighter bends, disappearing behind some piles of boxes. Chance, deciding that trying to help him in such a tight space could only lead to disaster, shoved his hands into his coat pockets and waited in the empty space near the opening of the room.

Absent-minded, he tuned out the sounds of clatter in the back as he took a glance at some of the stuff that was closest to him. Just like antique stores in his world, Lemm even had some old… Well, he wouldn’t call them magazines, but some kind of Hallownestian equivalent. Peeling open one of them(What was paper made from here? Silk? Leaves? That shellwood stuff?), he took a peek between the pages, and--

\--blinked, before dropping the page. He didn’t need to start seeing bugs in... that way.

“Ah! I think this is it… Is it?” Chance could hear Lemm shuffling around in the back, and cringed when a pile of junk toppled into view from around the corner, spilling all over the floor. Lemm gave a frustrated groan as he hobbled back into view, spinning around himself as he tried to walk between the trinkets scattered everywhere, like a bad game of Twister.

Chance took a step forward. “D-Do you need any--”

“Pardon?” Lemm asked, turning to face Chance while holding out a--

Chance shouted and fell on his back, staring up at Lemm’s hand in horror. Lemm was holding an all-too-familiar shape, something distinctly human; a long barrel of stainless steel, a firm rubber grip, a cylinder that spun like clockwork…

Lemm looked at him funny before he shrugged, as if he didn’t just point a  _ gun _ right at Chance’s face. “What?”

Chance stared at Lemm for a long, long minute, his eyes unable to tear away from the  _ revolver _ in Lemm’s hands, the way its pure and polished metal glinted in the dull light…

Hallownest’s technology was equal parts miraculous and nothing impressive. Their architectural prowess and craftsmanship (craftsbugship?) were phenomenal, but that was about it. They still used nails and spears for weapons, they still had tribes, they lit their streets with jars of glowing bugs. They didn’t have electricity.

Forget smartphones, they didn’t even have those ancient rotary phones or those things from the late 1800’s. They didn’t have cameras or automobiles. They didn’t have any kind of industrialization or mass production. Chance didn’t even know if they had basic plumbing, or even any kind of mass print.

And then the lone historian in this dead and ancient world had him staring down the barrel of a motherfucking revolver.

He burst out laughing.

Chance clutched at his sides, laughing his gut out as he rolled over on Lemm’s floor. Of course the  _ one _ human artifact in Hallownest would be a  _ gun. _ Really, was there any more human object?

“H-Hey, what’s so funny! Cut that out, I’m trying to show you something important!”

* * *

After he calmed down and took a more serious look at the gun in Lemm’s hand, Chance found himself… actually kind of nervous. He couldn’t be certain with his memories gone, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have much experience with guns. He probably never even held a gun before.

At least compared to some other guns, a revolver seemed… simple. Enough. Simple enough.

He tried to make out whatever he could; that was obviously the trigger  _ keep finger away please thank you, _ that was the lever-hammer-thing, and the… cylinder. Pulling back the release on the side, he almost jumped when the cylinder opened up and fell into his palm.

“What’s got you so nervous?” Lemm said more than asked, and Chance tensed up at the sudden noise. He  _ was _ way too nervous right now. Opening up the cylinder fully, he looked inside.

At first glance, it appeared all six chambers were full. However, pushing down on the rod at the end of the cylinder to empty out the bullets into his hand, he found only two rounds were still live, and the other four were already fired.

...Two shots. That’s all this thing was worth.

Lemm, somehow, seemed to understand. “As valuable as this artifact is, it’s still a  _ human _ artifact.  _ Your _ artifact, if that makes sense. I don’t normally make these kinds of offers, but…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, or where it’d be if he had one. “I’m willing to sell it to you, in exchange for some of those crystals you have.”

Chance closed the cylinder with a  _ click. _ “Wait, sell?”

“A crystal or two, plus eight hundred Geo. That’s my only offer.”

Chance starred at Lemm in exasperated horror before he blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, but only air came out.

Lemm, to his credit, didn’t look smug about the deal, but more like he just wanted to get it over with. “What? A historical, alien weapon for a chunk of crystal? Frankly, charging you  _ triple _ would be generous.” He grumbled as he walked out of the room and back to where Jeremy and Tusk were.

Chance stood in the trinket room for a minute, stupefied, before he snapped back into focus. “H-Hey!”, he shouted, running down the hall to follow.

* * *

“Chance!”

_ Whump! _

Right as he’d stepped back into the main room, Jeremy had shot up and pulled Chance into a tight embrace. Now that they were both dried off, Chance couldn’t help but notice how  _ warm _ Jeremy was. Between his cloak, fluff, and natural human body temperature, Jeremy was like a living, heated teddy bear… with wings.

He stood there for a moment, frozen and unwilling to break out of the hug, before he hesitantly let his arms wrap around Jeremy as well.

Lemm barely looked at them. “If there’s no other business you have with me, there’s no more reason for you to stay, I’ve overextended my hospitality far enough.” Tusk seemed to agree, already packing up some of their stuff and looking ready to go. “If you’re lost, I saw a cartographer fellow around here earlier. He’s likely somewhere in this building still.”

Before he left, Chance remembered to hand Lemm one of the pink crystals, as well as eight hundred Geo. “Hey, Lemm?”

Lemm grunted. “Mhm?”

“Why  _ are _ you being so nice to us?”

Lemm paused for a moment, before he looked away with a sharp laugh. Chance could see that he was trying to hide a small smile with his back turned. “No good reason. You remind me of an old friend, is all.”

* * *

Chance couldn’t deny how stupid he felt just about now. All this exploring and running in circled through this drowning city, and they  _ finally _ got an actual map, only for Cornifer to tell them that the Nailsmith they were looking for was  _ right behind them _ the entire time.

They were within, like, two minutes of the Nailsmith’s workshop before. And now they had to backtrack the whole way. Cornifer had been understanding, at least.

_ Ah, such things are inevitable in uncharted territory! But look on the bright side; isn't this a change from those twisting natural caverns? The rain does cast something of a sadness upon it all but the architecture is simply splendid… Charting such a different space is quite the challenge, though one I've eagerly undertaken. _

Jeremy and Tusk kept good enough company on the grueling walk back. Especially the former; Chance was fond of Tusk, he really was, but he didn’t realize how much he was starting to miss having another voice around.

“What’dcha spend all that Geo on earlier, anyway?”

He looked at the hybrid, who’d put his hood back up. Even if he’d already revealed his identity, he still didn’t feel comfortable with his face exposed. Plus, it offered some protection from the rain, for as long as it didn’t soak in and make it worse.

Chance shrugged as he walked. They’d taken a detour through the main city to minimize their time spent in the rain. “Nothin’ important. Just that… human artifact Lemm mentioned earlier.”

“I don’t think  _ ‘nothin’ important’ _ would cost eight hundred.” Jeremy bumped into him playfully, “C’mon, what was it? I promise I won’t tell!”

Chance looked left and right, as if someone nearby would be eavesdropping on them, before he leaned closer to Jeremy and murmured, “A revolver.”

He didn’t expect Jeremy to know what that was, but he  _ definitely _ didn’t expect his eyes to  _ light up _ from under his hood.

“Ooh, ooh, like a Smith & Wesson Model 29?! O-Or a Colt Peacemaker, if you’re classy? Or is it one of those Mateba Auto-Revolver thingies, or one of those modern Korth Super Sport ones?! A Dan Wesson 15-2? O-O-Or’d he give you a Chiappa Rhino, those look kinda funky--!”

Chance, starting to get overwhelmed from the tidal wave of questions and unrecognizable terms(How the  _ fuck _ did he know all of this?), simply pulled out the revolver and showed it to him. Jeremy paused as he looked it over.

“...Oh.”

For some incomprehensible reason, he almost sounded  _ disappointed. _ It wasn’t like he got to  _ choose _ what gun he somehow wound up with, but despite that, Chance still couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. “Whaddya mean, ‘Oh?’ What is it?”

“That’s a .357 Colt Python, probably the best production revolver ever made. Definitely the most popular, at least.”

Chance blinked. “Oh, wow.” So where’d that spark from a second ago vanish to, then?

“Yeah, it’s always near the top of “Most Iconic Revolvers” lists, ‘cause who can fault you for owning a Python? I mean, look at that thing,” he said, holding his hand under Chance’s to hold the gun up on a higher pedestal. “It’s the  _ best.” _

Chance forced a nervous laugh. He still wasn’t super comfortable around this thing.

“Y-Yeah, the best…”

“It’s the best. It’s the  _ best, _ it’s  _ number one, _ y’know?” Why did Jeremy sound like he was smiling right now. “It’s the  _ best.” _

Without warning, Jeremy yoinked the revolver out of Chance’s hand, leaving him scrambling for it. Chance tried to jump over Jeremy, who only laughed, holding it just barely out of reach.

“It’s the best, it’s the  _ best _ revolver, it’s the  _ best _ gun! It’s the  _ Cadillac _ of handguns! Even though they got shut down--” he laughed, stumbling away from Chance who was shouting at him to give it back-- “They’re still always in high demand because they’re the  _ best!” _

“J-Jay, that thing’s  _ loaded!” _ While they fought, Tusk had stopped walking and turned around to look at them, impatience rolling off of their expressionless mask in waves.

“You use a Python because you want the  _ best, _ and you  _ DESERVE _ the best!” Jeremy put himself on the offensive, pushing himself forward into Chance, who stumbled backward at his advance. “And  _ only _ the  _ BEST _ will do!”

“JAY--!”

With a  _ whump!, _ Chance tripped and fell on his back, with Jeremy falling on top of him. Jeremy’s arms hung limp around his neck in a loose embrace, his face buried in Chance’s shirt. They were both very still for a long moment, Chance looking at the top of Jeremy’s head and uncertain of what to do.

His body shook on top of his, and Jeremy pulled himself away with tears in his eyes.

“...Y-You’re the  _ best. _ Why can’t I... be like you?”

Chance wrapped his arms around Jeremy and pulled him closer, contorting the two of them awkwardly until they were sitting up against the nearest wall. He hesitated for a moment, before carefully grabbing his hood and pulling it down to look at his face. Jeremy only had a few tears rolling down his cheeks, trying to cover it up with a laugh, but Chance wasn’t having it.

“Jay…”

“Even when you’re Infected, you’re still fighting for a cure, exploring this dead and empty world for something nobody else could ever find…” He sniffled. “You’ve been everywhere, and I’ve barely left my dumb cave in the Wastes up until now.”

“Jay.”

“Even when you know you’ll probably die! You keep on fighting! You even fought the  _ Mantis Lords _ for a  _ hint _ of a cure! I don’t have that kind of willpower. I don’t have that strength, I don’t have  _ anything--” _

_ “Jeremy.” _

Jeremy stopped spiraling into self-pity for a moment to look at Chance. Dark, teary yellow eyes met desperate orange ones.

“...Are you kidding? Jay, I fucking  _ suck.” _

He froze in his grip, blinking as he stared up at him. He didn’t know what to say.

“W-Wha…?”

“I’m only running around down here ‘cause I  _ have _ to be. If I could go back up to Dirtmouth and sleep for a week, I  _ would. _ If I could  _ go home, _ I  _ would. _ But I don’t even have the choice.” He mumbled, before averting his gaze, rubbing a hand over his tender left arm. “And b’sides,” he murmured, “I didn’t stand a  _ chance _ against those Lords. I was just…  _ askin’ _ to die, almost.”

Jeremy mumbled something under his breath.

“Hm?”

“...Y-You…” despite his tears, Jeremy still had the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t… stand a  _ who _ against the Lords?”

Chance paused. “...You shut up.”

Jeremy giggled again; not the manic laugh from a moment ago, but something more genuine, something happier. The two sat there in comfortable silence for a good minute, leaning on each other as they watched the rain roll down the windows, pale Lumafly light refracting into the hallway and across their bodies. Like the light reflected from waves in the water, it flowed over them unevenly, and Chance thought he wouldn’t mind sitting here for a while longer.

_ ...why’d you…? _

“That’s… why, y’know.”

Jeremy finally spoke up, breaking the silence. Chance tilted his head slightly his way, unwilling to break their comfortable embrace just to stare him in the eye.

“I’ve been living in that little cave for as long as I can remember. But… I had a life outside it, once. A life in another world… your world, perhaps? But when I found my way here, I... crossed over, and…”

The silence became chilling. Chance found himself understanding far too much, and far too little.

“All I can remember is useless junk about both worlds, but... nothing  _ personal. _ Nothing about who I am or where I came from. I thought… I was alone. That there was nobody else like me. But then… I saw you there. You’d lost your memory, just like me, and… there's two humans in Hallownest now.” He paused. “Well, one and a half, anyway.

And I thought that… since you were fighting to get your memories back, why couldn’t I as well? If I followed you long enough, maybe… I’d find something about myself. About who I am, and… why I’m here.” He gripped Chance’s sleeve, “I’ve just been cowering behind you this entire time while you do the work. I-I’m sorry. I don’t know if I even…”

He trailed off, before sighing again. Chance moved his arm over Jeremy’s shoulder to comfort him, when a loud  _ CLANG! _ came from down the hall.

Tusk stood there, nail in hand, beckoning them to get a move on. Jeremy and Chance shared a look, before they both laughed.

“Let’s… keep going.”

* * *

“H-Hold up a sec!”

Chance paused, turning to look at Jeremy, who looked around the area, their expression contemplative. They were just at the foot of the hill where the Nailsmith’s hut resided, and they could see the smoke billowing from the small building above. Thankfully, the cliff above them acted as an awning to protect from the rain.

Without the distraction and chill of the rain, it was tolerable. 

“...Do I know this place?”

Chance blinked. “But I thought you…”

“Y-Yeah, I thought so too.” Jeremy walked around, his steps careful and calculated. “...Do you mind if I… hang back for a bit? I wanna look around here.”

“Are you gonna be alright?’ Chance asked, concern etched across his face. Jeremy looked hesitant, but gave a slow nod.

“Yeah. You’ll be just above, right? I can handle myself here… for a little while.” He got down on his hands and knees, wet cloak flopping around him. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up if I find anything.”

Chance took a deep breath, before he nodded. Another impatient  _ clang! _ Came from atop the hill.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’...!”

* * *

Chance let his back fall against the outside of the Nailsmith’s hut with a heavy sigh. The Nailsmith himself was kind enough, if a bit curt. He got to work on restoring Tusk’s cracked and dull nail for 250 Geo, which was sounding like less and less with the wealth they were accumulating. (Lemm’s 800 still felt like a kick to the gut, though.)

His house felt like a furnace, though, so while Tusk stayed inside to watch their old nail be restored, Chance took a step outside to breathe. Besides, he needed some time alone to think.

He was huddled near the entrance, taking in the residual heat, while his own was stolen by the outside air. A balance between two worlds.

He felt… desensitized. He’d been through too much shit in too little time and dissociating a bit was the only way he could possibly be handling this. Despite that, he was still terrified of everything; of the existential dread, of the unknown caverns sprawling in every direction with him stuck in the middle, of the feeling that he had mere weeks left to live.

How much longer did he have now, anyway? How long had it been since that night he vomited orange all over himself? It wasn’t easy to tell the time down here. Though, thinking about it now, he grabbed his phone and opened it, checking the date and time.

January 9th, 2017, 1:27 PM. Weird, but alright. He had no way of telling how long he’d been down here already, though. Plus, it had run out of battery earlier, so he didn’t know if it would even be accurate now.

That was another matter, too, his Soul abilities.  _ Why? _ He joked to himself that he was the “party healer”, but he still didn’t get why he, an outsider, would have any control over this world’s magic system. That,  _ plus, _ he was somehow all Mr. Special with the ability to heal other people, too. It was great, but sometimes he couldn’t help but feel that it was more of a burden than anything.

He gave another long sigh. “If I were a smoker, I’d be taking a  _ looong _ drag right about now…” he mumbled to himself.

“Ah, there you are.”

Her silky-smooth voice was like nails on a chalkboard to his paranoid ears, and Chance spun around to see a flash of red for a split second before lightning-fast strands of spider-silk spun wrapped around him.

He sharpened his Mantis Claws to cleave through the bindings, only for them to re-form and wrap thicker around his wrists and ankles, where his Claws couldn’t reach them. The forces constricting him pulled him upwards and  _ slammed _ him against the wall of the Nailsmith’s hut, keeping him pinned no matter how he struggled.

Hornet landed on the ground before him with grace, a wisp of silk from behind her pulling her silver needle into her hand. Rising to her full height, she studied Chance as he writhed against the silk bindings.

“...You’d follow your Vessel anywhere, wouldn’t you? Do you know where it is going? What it would try to do?”

Chance tugged against the silk. “W-What?”

“I’m no fool. I spied you eavesdropping on my conversation earlier. You know the Ghost would seek the Grave in Ash, far along this kingdom’s very edge.”

“Grave in--  _ The fuck?” _ Seeing Hornet’s glare, he backpedaled, “Y-Yeah, okay okay, I overheard, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, anyway!”

Hornet walked closer, holding her needle behind her as she emphasized every step with a glint of light off of its razor-sharp blade. “And it ought to stay that way. You don’t know the Vessel’s drive in this corpse of a world. You don’t know how it’ll all end. It’s better that you don’t get attached.”

“A-” Chance sputtered,  _ “Attached? _ Tusk is--”

“And that is exactly what I mean. You’re already close enough to have  _ named _ the cursed thing. You’re better off leaving it, and the sooner, the better for you.”

“Tusk is my  _ friend!”, _ Chance shouted. “If you think I’m just gonna up and  _ abandon _ him, you’re--”

Chance yelped as the needle embedded itself into the wall just next to his neck, close enough where Chance could make out his reflection in the blade’s silver sheen. Hornet glared death at him.

_“You do not even know what a Vessel _is,” she hissed. _“They are not _beings._ They are not _alive._ They are _objects,_ objects made to serve a single purpose and be _thrown away.” She jutted the blade deeper into the stone wall, the blade inching ever closer to Chance’s neck. “Must I spell it out for you? They were born for a _suicide mission._ _They live to die.”_

In her rage, she ripped the needle right out of the stone, and to Chance’s horror, swung the blade right across his chest.

_ “AAH--!” _

Chance flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for blood to spill, but none ever did. Instead, the strap of his messenger bag was sliced, leaving only a strip around the back of his neck while the bag itself tumbled to the ground, its contents spilling open.

The pink crystals, being at the bottom of the bag, stayed within. The glass jars tumbled out, a few charms scattered across the floor, his Geo pouch rolled away…

...and a single, loaded revolver fell to the ground at Hornet’s feet.

She froze up at the sight of it. Her dark eyes never tore away from the shape on the ground before her, but some kind of  _ familiarity _ flashed across her mask as she stared down. Chance didn’t even hear her breathe as she kneeled down, her hands shaking as she wrapped her chitinous hands around the grip of the gun, feeling its weight in her palm.

She didn’t even look at Chance when she started speaking again. “...Do you truly believe in your… perceived kinship, with the Vessel?”

Chance struggled to get his breathing under control, but he managed to keep a straight face. “...Y-Yes.”

She rose up, staring Chance dead in the eye as she spoke. “And do you truly believe you have the strength to bear the harsher truth of this kingdom’s stasis, as well as the  _ sacrifice _ that keeps it standing?”

The haunting, towering statue from the city square flashed before Chance’s eyes. He didn’t understand anything. But he needed to keep digging through Hallownest’s past, and if that meant he had to discover some horrible secret to save himself and protect Tusk, then he was willing to search for it. “Y-Yes.”

Hornet, moving with a slow, calculated grace, leveled the gun barrel with Chance’s head. She pressed her thumb against the hammer, cocking it with a soft  _ click. _

“And have you the  _ will,” _ she almost whispered, “to overcome the sickening secret that lies within  _ yourself?” _

Chance’s bright orange eyes flashed with some kind of fear for a moment. ...There were a lot of secrets within himself. He didn’t know anything about this disease. He didn’t know where he came from or what he did. He didn’t even know his own name.

He didn’t know why he came to this Kingdom in the first place. A part of him longed to know. Another part of him feared knowing.

“...Yes.”

Hornet took a slow, deep breath, looking Chance right in the eye, as her finger hovered over the trigger.

…

…

…

…

...

She lowered the gun.

Hornet gave a tense sigh, almost sounding relieved, or perhaps thankful? She spun around, walking away as she dropped the revolver onto his bag. The bindings around his body finally let up, and Chance fell to the ground.

Hornet turned around, taking a breath to speak, only to pause as she watched Chance scramble around the dirt to pick up all the stuff that fell out of his bag earlier. He mumbled to himself about charms and bottles and crystals, trying to remember what was there, trying to figure out what was a Geo and what was a pebble.

Hornet sighed again, looking away. “The Grave in Ash…” She heard Chance pause behind her to listen, so she kept talking. “Were I in your position… I would use the tram in Deepnest. It’s the most direct path to the edge of the kingdom.”

Chance’s mouth gaped open slightly, uncertain of what to say. “Uhm… T-Thank you, we--”

“But remember,” she spoke up, turning around to face Chance, who flinched at her sudden approach. “Deepnest is one end of the tramway, and the Ashen Edge is the other end.  **Do not waste your time stopping in-between.”** She glared at him, before letting herself relax a little, the bottom of her mask hiding in the neck of her cloak. “It is… but a foolish detour. I’m sure you don’t have the time to waste down there.”

Chance… seemed to consider this, before nodding slowly. “...Alright. I’ll… remember that.” He stood up, stumbling a bit, holding his messenger bag by the strap. “Hey, uh, why’re you telling me this? I thought we were--”

“Enemies?” If Hornet was at all upset at how Chance flinched, she didn’t show it. “We were never enemies. We simply… have different roles to play in this kingdom’s fate, is all.”

Then she noticed.

“...Y-Your bag, it…”

Chance blinked, looking down at his bag, before looking back at her. “O-Oh! Uh, thanks for fixing that, I didn’t even notice! Even though you, a-ah, tore it…”

“I... “ Hornet actually seemed  _ stumped _ at what she was seeing, unable to comprehend the evidence before her. “I fixed nothing.”

Chance’s expression was… confused, but otherwise unreadable. Putting his bag back over his shoulder, he ran his fingers along the strap, trying to find any kind of microscopic tear or seem, only to come up with nothing. Hornet… wasn’t sure how she felt about the implications.

_ “I've honed your nail's edge. You'll find it much stronger than it used to be. Head out there and test its strength against your foes.” _

The Nailsmith’s voice broke them both out of their stupor, and Chance tried to stammer some kind of goodbye out, before Hornet spoke up.

“It’s a foolish thing, but… I realize now that I never got your name.”

Chance froze. His orange eyes seemed to gloss over.

Hornet huffed. “...Well? Don’t tell me you gave the  _ Vessel _ a name before yourself!”

Chance smiled.

“I don’t have the time to just stand here and  _ guess, _ you simpleton, just tell me your  _ damn--” _

* * *

“Here, sit down, I’ll teach you how to decock a revolver.”

Even though only two of the six rounds were live, Chance was thankful that Hornet didn’t actually pull the trigger in his face and force him to play Russian Roulette. (Though, he shouldn’t have been thankful that she was pointing the thing at him in the first place…)

<strike> (And how the  _ hell _ did she know how to cock a gun in the first place--) </strike>

However,  _ because _ she didn’t fire the gun, she’d left the hammer cocked, meaning it was basically now on a hair-trigger. The Colt Python was a double-action revolver, meaning you didn’t  _ need _ to cock the hammer to fire; the only real difference the hammer made was that it made pulling the trigger take a lot less effort.

But unless you were planning on actually  _ firing _ the thing, then cocking the hammer just left it volatile. Too much of a bump would set it off, and Chance would rather not waste his bullets.

“So what you  _ could _ do here is just pull the trigger, cause that’ll  _ probably _ not hit a live round,” Jeremy explained in a not-so-comforting way, “but this is an important thing you should know about this gun if you’re going to use it, or at the very least, take care of it.”

“I’m no expert, but…” Chance looked around the gun, keeping his finger  _ firmly _ out of the trigger guard. “Couldn’t I just, like… open the cylinder and try firing then? It won’t hit anything that way.”

Jeremy gagged.  _ “Absolutely _ not. Dry-firing the gun’ll only wear out the firing pin or even break it, making the entire thing useless. And some guns have safeties that prevent the cylinder from opening with the hammer down, though I dunno if that applies to old Pythons. Besides, there’s a much easier way to do it that doesn’t involve abusing your gun. Here--”

He took Chance’s hands in his own, guiding his thumb towards the hammer. “It’s cocked, but see how pressing it still has a bit of give? Just keep that button held down, that’s the first step.”

Chance nodded. “Alright. And then?”

“Tap the  _ other _ button.”

…

Chance look at Jeremy. Jeremy looked at Chance, struggling to keep his grin down, pursing his lips in amusement. Chance did not share the sentiment as his gaze turned to the gun in his hands.

He pointed to the cylinder release, only for Jeremy to shake his head, his smile growing wider. With mounting dread, Chance sighed, looking at the only other button on the gun.

“...Do I  _ have _ to?”

Jeremy only gave him a wordless, knowing look, his shit-eating grin almost glowing. “Just  _ tap _ it. Try to keep another finger wedged in the gap of the hammer, so if it accidentally goes down, it’ll keep it from firing.”

“Wouldn’t that hurt?”

“Not really; most of the impact and recoil from a gun going off is from the bullet exploding. If the primer doesn’t hit the bullet, it won’t really be much more than a… click.”

Nodding, Chance awkwardly positioned his fingers so he had one thumb down on the hammer, another thumb wedged between the hammer and the frame, and lastly his finger down by the trigger. For a heartstopping moment, he braced for impact, face scrunching up as he pressed down on the trigger with shaky hands.

Hearing a click, and feeling the hammer loosen, he took his finger off the trigger with haste, and slowly allowed the hammer to return to its resting position. With the gun safely de-cocked, Chance heaved a sigh of relief.

Jeremy’s smile went from shit-eating to genuine. “Nice job!”, he said, and Chance could tell he meant it. Chance allowed himself a nervous smile. After a few seconds of comfortable silence, he turned to look at the hybrid.

“Hey, Jay? How do you…  _ know _ all of this?”

Jeremy’s smile fell. He turned away, looking out through the endless rainfall that shrouded their view like a veil. “...I dunno,” he said honestly. “It just all sorta comes to me. Again, I know nothing about myself, only dumb, impersonal stuff that rarely comes in handy. But,” he paused, looking deep in thought as he sighed. “I seem to know stuff about both worlds. Which one was I raised in? Earth? Hallownest? Somewhere in between?”

Chance looked down. “I’m… sorry I asked, I--”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Jeremy managed a big smile. “We’re gonna get our memories back anyway, right? You and me.”

Jeremy pulled himself to his feet, stretching out before walking over down the hill, couching down near the ledge, as though looking for something. “But let’s not worry about that existential stuff right now. Follow me.”

“Where’re you goin’?”

Jeremy turned to Chance and gave a sly, knowing smile. “I found something down here earlier. I think you’d like to see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name and summary are a reference to Lyin' Eyes by the Eagles.
> 
> Disclaimer: All the information about guns in this chapter was from a couple hours on Google. Please don't use a dumb Hollow Knight fanfiction as a guide on gun safety.
> 
> hornet with da gun. what crimes will she commit  
a colt python sounds familiar. wonder who lemm got that from :)
> 
> please leave a comment they fuel me

**Author's Note:**

> [We have a playlist for all our musical references here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4hwkWAmxCw92Kcq6TWVznh?si=UagS5vfjQzSlWN_RDJ_Efw) (Warning for potential spoilers, but idk what you could figure out just from music)
> 
> Join our [Discord server!](https://discord.gg/PYXCv9tUPg)


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